


Boss Cyrus

by PolarGrizz47



Category: Saints Row
Genre: Cuddles, Depression, Disembowelment, Fluff, Kidnapping, Multi, Suicide Attempt, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-24 20:22:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 39
Words: 23,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2595272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PolarGrizz47/pseuds/PolarGrizz47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follow Cyrus on his little adventures of one-shots between his lovers and his crew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fraying

Cyrus concentrated on the feelings of Shaundi’s fingers dancing through his hair soothingly as he laid there on the floor of his office. Scattered papers and a now broken sculpture were littering the floor by his desk, and he had since calmed down from his earlier burst of anger.

He could hear Kinzie talking to Asha in quiet, hushed tones by the door, and the nervous shuffle of a good dozen secret service members looming outside the double doors. Pierce was carefully picking up a few documents, occasionally asking Shaundi what had happened.

All their voices made no sense to Cyrus, just a garble of foreign tongue, so he was content to stare at their shoes and let his cheek go numb against Shaundi’s thigh, the fabric of her skirt feeling odd against his cheek. Cyrus felt like he had been shoved underwater. His chest was tight and throat raw from an internal struggle, and all sensory input seemed muted.

He never really noticed their shoes until now. Kinzie wore brown sneakers while Asha wore a comfortable looking pair of short heels. Peirce was wearing some neatly polished white dress shoes, with the Saint’s logo fancily engraved into the heel. He couldn’t see what Shaundi was wearing, and instead let his gaze drop to the carpet.

The carpet sure felt a whole lot more itchy against his hands as he laid there on it today. He was ashamed to admit he’d been found curled up here more than once. Though usually it didn’t get this much attention. He figured his screaming beforehand had something to do with it.

Taking a gasping breath, he felt fresh tears sting his eyes and heard a quiet shushing coming from Shaundi. Her fingertips pushed the dark hair from his face and smoothed over his fevered forehead. Cyrus squeezed his eyes shut to ignore the looks each member sent his way. He didn’t want to see their pitying worry if they weren’t going to act on it.

Everyone knew he was slowly fraying at the seams the ripping himself apart little by little.

His lungs seized up and he let out another painful sounding breath, barely choking back sobs as his body shuddered and rocked with the uneven breathing. His vision blurred as he opened his eyes and he hardly even registered the process of crying and grieving for so many lost things.

The president tried to stare higher than their worried gazes, and ended up staring at the painting of Johnny on the wall. His chest tightened painfully once more and wrenched another pathetic sound from his lips. Curling up there on the floor, he closed his eyes and balled up his fists and tried to bury so many things away in his already slippery mind. Fresh tears spilled from his closed lids and he choked on his begging gasps until he felt all the fight leave his body.

They all let Cyrus tire himself out. What else could they do?

Cyrus had already decided this.


	2. I am not a violent person

The water feels odd against my skin, like too hot rain during a snowy funeral, or acid falling onto my back. The food tastes bitter on my tongue but I’ll smile at Johnny anyways and say I liked it.

I can feel it happening all over again. Like a record that only plays partway, it just gets to the good part and skips back to the beginning. I try to grasp at the few straws I have left, but they all break apart under my grip and shatter in my hands like glass. I feel burned and alone.

It’s getting harder and harder to sleep with that disgusting feeling of anxiety crawling around my mind and eventually seeping down into my blood. It itches and tingles and I want to confess that I’ve reached my breaking point. I want sympathy – I want to be normal and not have these little fucking ticks.

Asha knows. She always knows when I’ve fallen back into this stupid dark place. She always offers to shine a light and pull me back up, but I always end up dragging her down with me. That burns in the back of my throat sometimes when I talk to her. I love her too much to worry her, so I try my best to ignore her stares and go about my business.

I’m the boss afterall. I don’t have time for these dark feelings – or that repulsive ache of aloneness I feel sometimes.

I shouldn’t feel like this. I should be happy. We won – we won and it was okay. It’s just like the old days when the Saints were picking themselves back up… expect on a larger scale.

Johnny picks up on it eventually. I think he always knows but he tries not to bring it to my attention. A firm hand on my shoulder and a curious nod of the head is my cue to talk to him. Sometimes I have to, because Johnny is good at that, you can throw so much at him and he just takes it all in easily. It’s unusual to tell him something he hasn’t experienced before. Sometimes I can’t get past that pitying look in his eyes and I need to be alone.

Maddie’s a good person to talk to. A dog. I’m talking to a fucking dog about my stupid emotions. I could go talk to Kinzie or Miller, maybe they wouldn’t notice that crack in my voice while they stare at the screen. I doubt it. Or Angel? No, he’s always hard to talk to. Ben? Fuck no. Ram? Maybe… no. Shaundi? I talk to her all time, she doesn’t need any more crap. Pierce? Hah.

Sometimes I sit here in the shower and wait until the burning water turns cold. My skin crawls with the sensation and it’s a good distraction from my mind.

I’m not a violent person, I’m really not.

But sometimes the wooden handle of that axe feels good in my hands, feels heavy and just so right. Or the guns uneven weight is somehow soothing.That angry little tick appears quickly and reacts horribly and I’m left waking up to the smell of iron and the slick feeling of blood.

I feel sick and lightheaded. I try not to think about it too much, I try to get past it all and just swallow down that disgusting feeling but I can’t. I really can’t.

So I slide back down into this slum. The crushing feeling you get in a room full of people is enough to make me stay in my office with Maddie by my side. I scribble on the tablet in front of me and try to force myself to be happy. Hell, I’ll even draw a fucking rainbow and a bunny if you want me to.

When the water gets cold and I drag myself out onto the couch, I try to ignore the looks Johnny and Asha send my way. They’re worried.

Fuck, I’m worried.

Maybe they’re right. I need medicine. Or maybe I just need … I don’t know.

Johnny finishes off whatever he’s making – it smells like eggs – and he sits down on the floor – the fucking floor – like its normal. He leans his back against the couch and stares hard at the television. I know he does this on purpose. He’ll get right down on my level and suffer quietly with me. Asha looks aggravated. I see her take a breath and quietly slip into the cushion next to my head, curling her legs up under her while she stares down at his plate like it’s a personal offense.

I know they want to talk. I feel the tension in the air and it gets to be too much.

I’m suffocating.

I break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is from Cyrus' POV, sort of an inner dialogue. Kind of vague, for reasons.


	3. Asha's Hair

Johnny paused in the doorway to silently appreciate the view he had of Cyrus and Asha. They had yet to notice him entering their little space on the ship, and seemed to be immersed in deep conversation. Cyrus was combing through Asha’ ridiculously long hair and doing his best to braid it into thick sections. Little droplets of water splattered to the ground below as Cyrus pinched off another knot with the tight hairband.

“How long have you been growing it out?” Cyrus asked absently, twining together three pieces of hair and smoothing out any wet frizzes in the agents dark locks. Asha shifted a little from her crouched position on the coffee table, trying not to move her head too much so she wouldn’t mess up Cyrus’ concentrated work.

“Around eight years?” She finally answered, counting off the number on her fingers until she was satisfied with the answer. “I’ve gotten it trimmed a few times if it gets too dry, and I’ve probably gone through an ungodly amount of conditioner.”

The blond boss merely hummed in response, his eyes slightly narrowed behind the old fashioned glasses in concentration. While they fell into a lapse of silence, Johnny cleared his throat and made his silent presence known. “I brought back some water.” He announced to the both of them, holding up the small pack of water bottles he’d manage to sneak off with.

Cyrus glanced over at him with a wide smile, “Thanks, I needed some water again.” He pinched off another tie in Asha’s hair and leaned back a little. “Asha, you’ve really got a full mane.”

“I’m not cutting it.” She answered back with a slight chuckle, turning to welcome Johnny as he sat down in the couch by Cyrus. They exchanged little kisses and then Cyrus settled into the taller man’s shoulder, effectively using him a support.

“I never said that!” Cyrus defended with a snort, getting back to tiding up her hair. Johnny was content to watch them in silence, his thumb running over Cyrus’ knee in a soothing fashion as the man’s nimble fingers continued to make braids. “How do you tie it up all by yourself?” The blond finally asked, running his thumb over a thick strip of hair to squeeze the leftover water from the shower out.

“It’s really not that hard. Miller and Shaundi help me sometimes too; Matt owed me after I had to shave the side of his head. That kid squirms too much.” Asha’s words were spoken lazily, and Cyrus’ eyes wandered over to the clock, reading the numbers 22:34 in blue. They must be getting tired.

Eventually he declared the hair battle won, and stood up to accompany Asha and Johnny to their shared bedroom. It was a cozy little room, a big bed, and a few weapons and other various toys lying around, some even tangled with clothes and shoes. They really should clean one day.

Cyrus watched as Johnny stripped down to his boxers and then flopped onto bed while Asha snaked her way under the covers with a skill well-honed before he lazily threw himself back onto the middle. The sudden movement roused a sleepy grunt from Gat before Cyrus found himself wrapped up and quickly in the position of ‘little spoon’ to the larger man. Asha waited until they got settled before she slid closer, pressing a little kiss to his forehead and then curling up close to him in the evening.

The boss listened to their breathing eventually even out into that of a deep sleep before he turned to stare at the ceiling. He wasn’t tired. His mind was filled with thoughts of other species, of their diplomatic standings and the power he held over a relatively small part of the universe. Cyrus had to take a deep breath to keep from being overwhelmed before he snuggled back down into Asha and Johnny, feeling the weight of the day slowly slipping into the background as his lids grew heavy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cyrus helps her braid her hair, how cute.


	4. Dark!Cy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ!!  
> This chapter gets pretty fucked up. Feel free to skip it.  
> Extreme violence(a kneecap gets popped out of a leg), some gore and mentions of drugging/past assault, homophobic slurs.

“Hey, hey, look here. In my eyes.” Cyrus slapped the man’s cheek sharply, trying to get the captive to stop screaming and concentrate. When the man’s teary green eyes connected with Cryus’ vicious blue ones, the boss smiled wickedly. “There you go. Now, I’m going to repeat the question. Answer like a good little boy and I won’t have to pop your kneecap out, Pumpkin.” He said with fake sweetness, gesturing to the blade sticking out of the victim’s leg. “Where’s that piece of shit leader of yours?”

Said man let out a deep, hiccupping snarl, trying to blink the blood and tears from his eyes to focus on the attacker. His lips were dry, cracked and he could taste blood on his lips. The only relief he got from such torture was the fact that he’d seen this man in an even worse position, drugged out of his mind and beaten for fun. “You looked good with your lips around my dick, faggot.” He spat instead, baring his bloody teeth (a few seemed to be missing) and he was able to see the way Cyrus’ brows furrowed in disgust at the vile memory, even with the poor lighting.

“Oh, sweetie. That was the wrong answer. You always go and bring up that little memory, hmm? Well that was a poor choice. And that was your last chance.” Cyrus’ voice was filled with irritation and wrath, and he took ahold of the knifes handle and looked into the man’s eyes as he yanked back on it. He felt the bone resist for a few moments before it split from the muscle and the skin was ripped open as the solid mass burst free from its confines inside the man’s leg. Cyrus was good at selective hearing, and he chose not to listen to the mans ragged screaming and begging as he continued to work the blade in and back until the man’s kneecap was completely gone. “Now, I’m going to go take a break. This really makes me tired. Until I get back, Johnny’s going to take my place. I’m sure you’ll love his company.” Cyrus patted the man on the ruined knee, making the captive squirm and sob before he stood up and made his way to the only door in the container.

The light of the day hurt his eyes, and he shielded them from the sun before glancing around the shipment dock and checking back inside at the sobbing man. The door to the large shipment container slammed shut, and the boss took a few welcoming gulps of fresh air. It was starting to reek like piss and blood in that box. “Johnny!” Cyrus barked, narrowing his eyes at the man who was leaning casually on the side of his venom and talking to King about something. Shaded eyes shifted to Cyrus and he pushed himself from the vehicle, striding over towards the shorter man.

“Right here, boss. How’d it go?” Johnny asked once he got closer, noticing how Cyrus’ teeth were clenched and his fists kept squeezing the bloody handle of the blade. “I take it not well then?”

“Stupid man won’t talk. I took out a kneecap, routine surgery. Anyways, I think now he’ll be willing to talk. You’re in charge, I’m going to fucking keel over if I spend one more minute in that box.” To show his words, Cyrus wiped at the long column of sweat on the back of his neck.

“If it’s that fucking hot in there, then can you hold this?” Gat grumbled, pulling the jacket off his shoulders and down his arms. Cyrus couldn’t help but to let out an appreciative hum at the skin Johnny revealed in doing so.

“I sure can.” Cyrus gleefully mumbled, snatching the silver and purple jacket in favor of resting it over his arm. “You know, I really do like this.” He mumbled softly, his smile was dangerous and foreign specks of blood were on his face, but his fingers were soft and light against the Ankh tattoo on Johnny’s inner wrist. Gat grumbled in agreement, silently watching as Cyrus let his hand fall from the ink.

“Cy. My knife?” Johnny said in a soft voice, raising his eyebrows as Cyrus gasped and then pouted when he looked down to the said filthy object. “It’s mine, remember?”

“I know, I know… here.” Cyrus’ pout never ceased while he passed the large blade back to Johnny, the man humming happily. “Oh – and until I get the info I want,” Quickly hopping up, he snatched the man’s precious golden glasses and took off for the car, ignoring Gat’s shout of protest. “These are mine! Hurry up Johnny, I want food. I’m hungry! Info, glasses then food, kay?” He yelled from the safety of the other side of the vehicle, ignoring Johnny’s selective hand motion before the man disappeared into the container with the loud bang of the metal door slamming closed. “Hehe, hey look, Ben… I’m Johnny Gat.” Cyrus said proudly as he took off his own frames and replaced them with Johnny’s shades.

“You’re a fucking idiot, is what you are.” King grumbled as the smaller man climbed into the car and sprawled out with a devilish smile. He watched as Cyrus placed his head on his shoulder and toyed with the stupid scarf King always insisted on wearing. “Hey, kid – about what happened, do you-”

“Can we please not talk about that right now? You’re going to ruin my blood-joy.” Cyrus mumbled softly, closing his eyes and enjoying the air conditioner of the car. King didn’t like leaving the topic undiscussed, but he nodded and allowed Cyrus to continue playing with the fabric until Johnny got back.

Gat took a deep breath as he entered, allowing his eyes to adjust to the shit lighting. Sure enough, their captive was still sobbing and gasping, thanks to bloody mess of knee Cyrus had left in his wake. “Yo, listen up. I got shit to do and I’m not very keen on waiting.” He smirked when the man glanced up at him and fucking wailed.


	5. Gaming

“I’m so going to kick your ass.” Gat rumbled, tilting his body a little to the side. Cyrus snorted with laughter, reaching over to thwack Johnny in the ear. “Fuck – man, that’s cheating!”

“Says the guy who elbowed me while I was taking my sniper position!” Cyrus barked back, leaning forwards a little bit and lifting his hands up as he rapidly pressed a few buttons on the remote. Johnny let out a disgusted sound, “See – I win. Head shot.”

“There is no way he should have just died like that – I had like twenty percent health!” Gat fumed, looking down at Asha, who had been sprawled across their laps for the better half of an hour. “Tell him Asha, that’s cheating.”

She simply looked up from her reading on the phone, glancing over to the screen. “He clearly beat you three out of five rounds, Johnny.” The agent said with some humor, which caused Gat to gawk at her. “Oh, don’t give me that look.” She sighed, rolling her eyes and then yelping with laughter when Johnny abandoned the controller and instead focused on pinching the delicate soft spot above her thigh.

Cyrus had to lean way back to avoid taking an elbow to the face, or a knee from Asha flailing around, but he managed to dodge any embarrassing blows and instead cleared his throat, holding up an extra controller. “So, Asha. Wanna test your ninja skills in a video game?”

Gat and the woman exchanged a brief grin, and she leaned over to snatch the controller before squeezing herself between the two men. “Alright, let’s see how many times I can kick both your asses in this game.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the end, Asha kicks their virtual asses.


	6. Lions

Johnny tipped his head back into Asha’s exploring touches, allowing the agent to muse up his hair in favor of feeling her nimble fingers threading through the dark locks. He let out an appreciative rumble, opening his eyes to smirk as he saw Asha smiling down at him. “You’re like a giant kitten.” She murmured, leaning down a little to meet his lips in a chaste kiss.

He mimicked a cat’s purr before letting out a low chuckle, pressing his nose into the crook of her knee and taking a breath. “More like a lion, actually.” Asha’s responding laugh was light and joyous, leaning back a little from her perch on the back of the couch. “Isn’t that right, Cyrus?” He shifted his eyes to the boss curled up by his side, staring out at the television blankly.

At the question however, Cyrus lifted his head a little and hummed with thought before answering. “No, a cute little housecat is what you are.” He spoke teasingly, only shifting and giggling in mild protest when Johnny attacked his side with a barrage of tickles.

“A cute little housecat, huh?” Johnny growled, faking a purr before he allowed Cyrus to relax and catch his breath, withdrawing his hands. “Nah, man, I’m a lion.”

“And your mane is your gun?” Asha questioned, endlessly amused.

“Nope. My mane is obviously my dick.”

Cyrus and Asha were both quiet for a moment before they seemed to burst into laughter together. “Only you would say anything like that!” Cyrus concluded, resting his head back on Gat’s shoulder and folding himself into a curled up position. “Seriously, you loser.”

“Call me names all you like. But neither of you are denying it.” Johnny responded, puffing up with pride a little and leaning his head back into Asha’s lap. The agent looked down at him with a keen smile before she swiftly countered.

“You know… lionesses do all the hard work…” Her hand pulled carefully in the man’s thick hair, resulting in a deep groan rising out of Johnny’s throat. She then trailed her fingers to Gat’s neck, scratching gently there before she pushed her fingers back through Johnny’s hair.

And, well, neither man could deny her words.


	7. That was the point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ!!  
> This chapter takes place after an attempted suicide, and will contain details of said attempt. Feel free to skip this chapter.

Peirce and Shaundi walk out of the hospitals private room, muttering in hushed tones about what had happened. Confusion was among most of the Saints. Paired with disbelief and panic.

“We’re just lucky the press isn’t all over this.” Peirce mumbled, glancing back inside the sterile room where Cyrus was laying, fast asleep. A nurse walked by the hall, nodding her head just slightly in a greeting before she continued along the narrow and bright path.

“Kinzie’s been working night and day to disperse any suspicions among the crowd. She’s worried sick, poor girl, I’ve been texting her everything. Though I doubt she’ll be happy until she can actually yell at Cyrus and then hug him.” Shaundi laughed just slightly, but it was lacking her usual charm.

They were all exhausted, not a single one of the team had gotten any sleep last night, and it was nearing three in the afternoon. Their eyes were marred with deep, dark circles, and their hands shook with the thrill of caffeine.

For a while, they sat outside of the room, waiting for any doctors or nurses to check in on their Boss. Peirce damn near fell asleep on Shaundi’s shoulder until King exited the elevator, signaling their ‘relive of duty.’

“You two need to get some rest. Asha and Matt are heading back to the Whitehouse as we speak. Go on, don’t give me that look.” Ben chided, pulling his half zombified teammates to their feet. “Cyrus has been doing fine for hours now. When he wakes up, he’ll want to see bright smiles, not coffee stains and yawns.”

After a few minutes of tired arguing, King managed to shove them into an elevator going back downstairs. He was going to take his ‘shift’ now, waiting for either a doctor, or one of the other teammates to join him.

Falling into the plush chair by Cyrus’ bedside, King spent a few moments staring at the Boss. He looked like shit, or like a ghost that didn’t quite move on.

Pale and small under those hideous green blankets, and probably even more ridiculous in those hospital garbs. His hair was a mess, dark locks standing out against the lime pillow case and fraying at the edges. Cyrus’ breathing was aided by a nasal cannula, or as Peirce had put it, ‘one of those nose prong thingys.’

King absently rubbed his hands together, trying not the stare at the layers of bandages and antibiotics covering Cyrus’ neck, but he found his eyes drawn to the long slash he knew was there. Terrifying memories where etched on Cyrus’ skin now.

Focusing too much caused the memories from last night to float to the surface. The hushed whispers, promises of salvation and the way his hands fit tightly around Cyrus’ throat, trying to stop the flow of blood there.

His hands still felt grimy, sticky and slick with the drying blood.

Shuddering unpleasantly, King decided to distract himself with an out-of-date magazine the hospital had to offer. The constant beeping of one of the machines they had Cyrus hooked up to was starting to get rather annoying, and King found himself wondering how the doctors and nurses dealt with this every day.

-:-

“You look as bad as I feel.”

It took a moment for the words to register with King, the voice was too soft and raw to be Cyrus’, but the bastard was staring at King with a lazy smile on his face. Ben suddenly wanted to wipe that stupid grin off the Boss’ face, but he was too thankful to even act on the impulse.

“Yeah? Well, after last night, what’d you expect, kid?” King mutters instead, placing the magazine back in the rack and focusing all his attention on Cyrus. “How are you feeling?”

“Honestly?” Cyrus lifts a hand up from the bed, inspecting the clip they had on the tip of his index finger with mild confusion. “I feel like I’m high, but that’s the morphine… and I don’t remember much…” His voice was missing that familiar ring, that public appeal that captured America’s eyes and ears.

Blue eyes hesitantly glanced to King’s; the other man’s image was blurry since Cyrus was lacking his glasses. Within that moment, the whole feel of the room shifted into dangerous territory. King pinned him down with a glare, suddenly sitting forward to get a better look at Cyrus.

“You scared the shit outta us.” He growled dreadfully, “We all thought you were going to die.” King’s voice rose, and then fell, realizing he was still in the hospital.

A long moment of silence passed between them, and Cyrus found himself staring at the window. The blinds were drawn tight, but a few trickles of light escaped and poured through the air, showing a few dust particles that were suspended there.

Finally, Cyrus’ soft and tired voice answered. “That was the point, Ben.”

Startled into silence, King simply stared back down at his hands, and listened to the sounds of Cyrus slipping back into a deep sleep.


	8. Whats the difference between impalement and stabbing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ!!  
> Mentions of extreme gore, kidnapping, and hints of disembowelment.

Cyrus circled the rather charming man they had managed to track down and kidnap, his body tied down tight to a specialized surgical table. He had rough brown eyes and messy dark locks, his skin was bruised in some areas from Johnny’s earlier anger, but Cyrus was saving the best for last.

“Have you ever been impaled?” Cyrus suddenly asked, pausing to stare down at the man’s face from behind him, his hands carefully pointing to his captive’s abdomen. “It hurts. It aches and burns and pulls sounds from your lips you didn’t even think a human could make.” The memory of his own situation flashed through, and Cyrus could remember screaming, crying and kicking uselessly at the dirt – begging for help. “You start begging for any god to come safe you. You cry and you struggle, you’re shaking so badly that your hands slip around the bloody thing sticking straight through you and then you cuss, moan and eventually blackout.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, the first signs of panic were showing, a dilation of pupils, a quickened pulse. Cyrus simply smirked and stepped away, pacing around in the shadows. “A stab would though – that’s different. Most blades you can pluck right out of you. Sure, it hurts like a bitch and you squirm and try to plug up the hole – but it’s different. For starters, a knife is sharper than any dull object – imagine an iron fencing being shoved straight through your guts – and then imagine a smooth knifes edge meeting your flesh.”

A moment’s silence, and then Cyrus returned the man’s side, his fingers easily pulling the makeshift gag from his rival’s lips. “Which one sounds better to you?”

The man stared at Cyrus like he was crazy, but licked his lips and answered. “A knife.”

“Being stabbed?”

“Yes.”

The Saints leader nodded thoughtfully, and then backed up a few steps, going to the other side of the room, just out of sight. “I bet you’re wondering what’s going to happen to you. Are you hoping that I’ll stab you?” Cyrus’ light and scholarly tone turned into something much darker.

“Hoping?” The man whispered, testing his bindings and finding them more than secure – in fact his fingers and toes were starting to get numb.

“Well, unfortunately for you, I feel like following an old childhood passion.” Suddenly music flooded the small room, and the captive tensed, not recognizing the tune. As the intro dragged on, he realized that the song had no words – just sounds and certain humming bits. Nothing too deep, nothing too high pitched… it was rather soothing, really. Almost melodic.

Cyrus eventually returned from the corner of the room, carrying a few simple tools in a bowl and wearing thin blue painters gloves. “I always wanted to be a doctor. Always. The thought of saving people used to make me jump for joy as a kid.” He explained, gushing honestly about how much he wanted to become a surgeon. One that helps removes things from the intestines, more specifically.

The man felt himself start to sweat, and he struggled more and more, hoping to god that Cyrus wasn’t going to test out on him. However, once he saw the scalpel and started screaming, Cyrus tsked and roughly replaced the gag.

“That was rude of you, breaking my concentration like that.” Cyrus snapped as he unbuttoned the plain blue shirt and exposed the man’s stomach. “Now,… where were we?”


	9. Tennis and a Pool

The loud sounds of swearing, frantic stomping and the pings off a tennis racket echoed through to Kinzie’s area of resting near the court. She took another sip of her champagne and let her eyes track the neon colored ball bouncing throughout the court, back and forth between the two panting men.

Johnny lunged for it, barely striking the ball off the racket and back to the boss. Cyrus jumped forwards, and hit the ball a little too far to the left, sending it out of play. “Damn it,” He huffed with irritation, frowning when Kinzie laughed from the sidelines.

“Maybe tennis just isn’t for you. You need to play something more… _destructive_.” The computer genius winked and lounged back into her chair, enjoying the shade provided by the large umbrella. The president simply made an astonished sound and went over towards the benches, setting aside the racket and plucking his official Saints Flow water bottle from the bags. Cyrus had named the bottle Paul, just for shits and giggles whenever Pierce brought it up again.

The ‘world’s greatest badass’ grinned and walked across the court to join the Saint’s leader. “She’s right you know. You and balls never really get along.” The last part was coupled with a purr and he leered dangerously towards Cyrus, making the other man snort and mumble under his breath. “What was that?” Johnny pressed, a thin grin was plastered on his face.

Cyrus smirked and simply grabbed his towel, dabbing the sweat off his forehead. “That’s not what you were saying _last night_.” The pure simplicity of the statement caught Jonny off guard, and he puffed up with embarrassment, the grin completely wiped from his face.

“I did not need to hear _that_!” Kinzie shouted at them, nearly spilling her expensive drink in the process.

“That’s what you get for eavesdropping!” The boss gleefully shouted back, smugly walking over to the pool where Asha and Shaundi were splashing about. “Hi you two.” He announced, tossing his towel on one of the many lounge chairs by the pool and then diving in with his clothes still on.

“Cyrus, you’re going to disrupt our fun.” Asha groaned, swimming back some when the President bobbed up out of the water and spit a little at her. She sent him an offended, but playful glare and splashed back at him.

“What? I’m made of fun! So,” He floundered around as he tried to touch the bottom in the deep end, “What game are we playing?”

“Water assassination.” Shaundi answered with a devious grin, glancing at Asha. Before Cyrus knew it, both woman lunged at him, pushing him underwater like a swarm of sirens and giving him a rough introduction into the little, twisted game.

It wasn’t long until he wrestled out of the hold, splashing to the surface and coughing. “What the – _fuck-”_ He sputtered and swam away to a safe distance from the giggling girls. “I am not playing that game! You two go on and knock yourselves out.”

Johnny slowly slid into the water and wasn’t surprised when Cyrus came wading over, taking a seat next to the man on the steps gradually descending into the warm waters. The blond scooted closer and pressed his face easily against Gat’s shoulder, enjoying the sun overhead and the sound of Kinzie’s speaker lightly beating across the grounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY!! HAHA.  
> This was the originally story I got for Cyrus when my friend and I had first played the fourth.  
> Johnny never went missing and instead just almost died when the plane went down.  
> There was no alien attack.  
> Cyrus has a much better term as president.  
> At the end he eventually dies of cancer.  
> But I ended up dismissing this story and this was the wreckage I left behind.  
> Odd and uncomfortable for me to read, because now I have a much better understanding of Cy's character.


	10. Coloring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny's faded tattoos allow Cyrus to practice his coloring skills.

Asha pauses as she walks by their room to take a double look at what she’s seen, and couldn’t help but to grin at the image.

Johnny was laying on his stomach on the bed, lazily reading over the morning paper and humming at some parts in disapproval. Between his legs, Cyrus was draped over Gat’s back and was currently picking out a new shade of purple to work with.

As she advanced closer, she could see that their boss was meticulously going over the faded gryphon tattoo with a series of colorful permanent markers. Cyrus had already traced over all the black outlining and was currently filling in the feathers on its wings with a handful of purple shades and it actually looked quite professional.

Gat turned his head to smile at her as the MI6 agent entered and the blond gave a little hum, his eyes not leaving the canvas of Johnny’s back. Asha sat carefully by the two of them and peered over to get a closer look, a smile on her face as she did so. “What are you doing?”

“Coloring.” Cyrus answered as he pressed the tip of a plum colored marker to Gat’s skin and easily filled in the part of the sharp feather he was working on. He then moved onto the next and continued to leave a small sliver of uncolored skin for a later color, hoping to achieve some sort of shading to the fading ink.

“He’s been at it all morning.” Johnny informed while he thumbed over the next page of the paper, careful not to move his shoulders too much. Asha leaned back against the pillows to watch the two of them with a little smile on her lips. “Won’t let me get up or anything.” His lips curved up into a smirk at the grunt in approval Cyrus gave.

She picked up a section of the paper Johnny wasn’t reading and began to flip through it distractedly, her gaze more focused on the way Cyrus carefully filled in each line and whistled a familiar tune under his breath. She’d heard the song before, but the words failed to reach her mind at the moment, so Asha was content to merely listen without much thought.

Eventually Cyrus deemed the wings and the bloom of feathers going from the beast’s neck to its chest complete, and allowed Johnny to sit up and stretch a few times. “Hang on – I gotta use the bathroom before we sit back down again.” Johnny excused himself and Asha helped Cyrus sort through the large box of makers he’d somehow acquired.

They picked out a series of gold, silver, brown and red colors for the lower half of the gryphon and its claws. Asha gathered up a nearby stray piece of paper to doodle on while they waited, and Cyrus peered over her shoulder the entire time, making a series of confused or complementing expressions at her drawing skills.

Gat had since washed his hands and was now trying to get a good look at Cyrus’ work so far. Unfortunately, he couldn’t crane his neck to the side well enough to get more than a glimpse and had toyed with the idea of digging out Asha’s makeup kit to find another mirror to reflect off of, but he gave up and decided that a picture later would suffice.

The older man entered their room again and resumed his place on the bed, letting out a little puff of air when Cyrus jumped a little too hard on his back. “Watch it.” Gat grunted, and was given a little kiss on the shoulder as an apology.

Not too long after Cyrus had settled back in, Johnny felt the familiar and cool sensations of the marker on his skin.

It was nearly noon by the time Cyrus declared his masterpiece completely finished, and proceeded to take a series of photos before even allow Gat to see the finished product.

That evening, when Gat wandered out onto the deck to smoke (though he’d been recently restricted to vapor cigarettes) and watch the odd city flicker with life down below, he felt a warm hand slip over his shoulder and let out a little gasp, the water vapor leaving his mouth.

“It looks good.” Asha purred next to his ear before she leaned against the railing and plucked the fake cigarette out of his fingertips in favor of wrapping an arm around his neck and pressing their lips together. He smirked against her lips and let his hands trail appreciatively over her bare sides.

“Makes me want to get it re-colored.” Gat admitted with a little tilt of the head when she rubbed her thumb under his oddly colored eye. “I should do that someday. But I don’t know if I want to commit that many hours back in the chair.”

“You just spent a long time getting it colored with a maker that fades.” Asha countered with a twinkle in her eyes as she pulled him back inside. The sliding door closed behind them and left them with the quietness of the empty suite.

Johnny didn’t have time to retort before he felt the agent pushing a marker into the palm of his hand. He took a peek at the marker, identifying the color as blue and grinned. “Asha what are you planning?”

“Well, I just figured that since Cyrus spent our entire morning coloring we could… return the favor?” She twirled her own maker around and led them down the hall into the bedroom where Cyrus still slept, all tuckered out from earlier activities.

Johnny exchanged a brief glance to the agent as they approached, only given Cryus’ stomach to work with as he laid flat on his back, arms stretched above his head and lower half covered with the blanket before Asha sent Gat a wicked smile and their careful work begun.

The next morning when Cyrus awoke, he didn’t notice the multitude of ink covering his torso until he looked at himself in the mirror.

Both his lovers snickered quietly at his reaction from the safety of the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Faded tattoos are fair game for a bored Cyrus.  
> //unedited and messy whoops.


	11. Cocktail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyrus had two major accidents while he was in office.  
> This is one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ!!  
> Heavy drug reference in this, mentions of character death and a near overdose.

Cyrus laughed while he wiped the blood off his upper lip, and as soon as the off-key laugh stopped, a sneer rested on his face. Pierce took deep breaths and still held his fist clenched tightly, Shaundi was standing in the doorway, blocking his first obvious exit.

“Boss, you gotta snap out of it.” The other man whispered, his voice shaking unstably. He’d never seen the boss so fucking out of it. Sure he’d seen Cyrus on the verge of insanity once or twice, but this time he’d just thrown himself right into the darkest depths and didn’t pull himself out of that dark hole. “Okay – Snow – yeah?” He tried the old pet name he’d adopted for his boss.

Cyrus barred his teeth in a dangerous fashion and turned around to yank a cabinet off the wall, sending it crashing to the ground in a splintering mess of glass and wood and old, seemingly important documents. He turned to face Shaundi now, trapped in the hallway like a feral animal and he seemed to be even growling like one to at this rate. Shaundi didn’t flinch, and instead bared her own teeth right back.

It was now just a waiting game. They’d found Cyrus downing any sort of substance he could get his hands on. Pain pills, cocaine, sleeping medication, blood thinners, anything. Either he’d die before they could calm him down, or he’d wear himself out and still have a good chance of falling into a coma.

The boss took in a shuddering breath and his vision swam. The cocktail of drugs pounding through his system made him hyper aware of too much, too fast. His body jerked awkwardly at the feeling of the clothes on his skin, or the way their voices seemed to bounce around the hallway, coupled with the crunch of broken glass underfoot. It was all becoming too much and his rage was soon simmering into fear.

Pierce noticed the gradual change and took a testing step forward, only to be rewarded with a crazy yell – if one could call it that. Shaundi thought it sound like an agonized howl or a distorted name being tossed out into the wind. He quickly backtracked to give Cyrus some much needed breathing room. “Boss…” He muttered sympathetically while he simply watched from the sidelines.

So they waited like that. Kept their boss disarmed and kept him trapped in a hallway of the white house and watched him fall apart. He tugged the clothes off his body, firstly the jacket and then his pocket watch, which went whizzing by Shaundi’s head. By the time he was puking, only the shirt, shoes and the slacks remained intact. His vision doubled, then blurred underwater only to become an inky black and Cyrus took chocking breaths until he felt like he needed to lie down.

The moment he slumped back against the wall and all the way to his ass, Shaundi and Pierce were upon him. Cyrus hardly remembered struggling before his body went into seizures and he blacked out. A small part of him wondered if this is what Troy felt like in his last moments.

When he woke up, he was in a plain off white room with dark curtains. Two people stood by the door and one stood in the room. He hardly recognized those secret service members. They all looked the same at first.

It was only after a few moments that he registered just how fucking shitty he was feeling. He felt like he hadn’t eaten in a week while his throat was dry and tasted like a mixture and antiseptic and puke. Groaning, Cyrus stared up at the ceiling and tried to count the many black dots on the plaster.

Soon after he crashed back into a deep sleep out of utter exhaustion.

Waking up again, Cyrus noticed that the agents were gone and in their place, Shaundi. The woman stood by the door, talking in hushed tones to someone on a phone. She didn’t look like she knew he was awake yet, so he tried to shut out the conversation and muttered, “Bone, please.” He hardly recognized the scratchy sound of his voice.

She spun around and hung up without another word, staring at Cyrus for a moment that seemed to drag itself out and out until the boss tried to smile. Shaundi didn’t look very impressed. In fact, she looked pissed.

Later, he’d been told that they’d pumped his stomach to get the majority of the drugs out of his system, and he’d been out for roughly two days. They thought he was going to die, what else was new?

Unsurprisingly, he got put on an even tighter leash. Drugs and such were taken out of their system (the politicians were a little disappointed at that, but at least the strippers got to stay) and he was being kept under ‘watch’.

At least alcohol was easy to get ahold of now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cy was fucking crazy in office the first two years.  
> This takes place a few months before his attempted suicide.
> 
> Also a sad Troy reference, poor guy had a rough last day.
> 
> //unedited. :[


	12. Insanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insanity feels a lot like needles in his skin and pills against his lips.

This is what insanity is like, he’s sure of it.

It’s boiling and thick, building up under his skin and making him gasp and choke on nothing but the air. He feels as if warm blood is falling from his lips and he heaves over the sink, feeling his stomach tighten like it wants to empty, but it can’t.

There’s nothing to empty in his body.

Nothing but a handful of pills and some alcohol to help them go down.

On the counter to his left is a badge, a wallet and a gun. Wordlessly, his pale hand reaches out towards the flash of the silver badge, his fingers shaking and unstable. The metal feels much too heavy in his hands and as he flips the badge over, he can’t quite make out the scratched numbers.

He does not remember becoming a police man.

Shaking those thoughts away like ashes, he reaches out and takes up the wallet. It’s simple. Worn leather is soft under his fingertips and he feels his lips twitch up into an unfamiliar smile at the touch. Casually, he places one arm on the counter and uses the other to flip open the wallet.

There are a few bills in there, a handful of change and an ID. The words are blurred but the picture is crisp.

Looking closer, he can see the faint outlines of dark hair and an impassive smile. The man’s eyes are a deep almond color instead of a baby blue and his hair is much too dark to be his own. An outline of scruff frames his perfect white teeth and he’s wearing a simple blue button down against the white backdrop.

He hasn’t seen that face in years.

He drops the wallet and watches it catch on the edge of a silestone counter before fluttering down to the floor below. The leather is belly up near the toe of his work boots, and these jeans are much too muddy to be his own.

Choking again, he heaves into the sink, feeling wetness on his lips and the scratch of pills in his throat as they work their way up. He wipes the back of his hand over his glistening lips and squeezes his eyes shut before he looks at the mirror.

When he opens them again, he’s holding the gun.

It’s cool against his fingertips and he doesn’t remember ever wearing that golden watch on his wrist. The serial number has been sanded off and the paint on the trigger is wearing thin. Carefully, he turns the gun over and finds himself staring into the barrel.

Before his finger finds the trigger, he manages to take a peek into the mirror and the sight shocks him so much that he shouts against the scratchy throat and the upset stomach and lurches upright in bed.

Cyrus’ breathing comes in deep, harsh gasps and he feels a light sweat making the blond hair stick to his forehead. A pain races up his side and he hisses before collapsing back against the bed. He stares at the lights overhead and tries to remember how he got there.

A door opens to his left and he doesn’t need to turn his head to know it’s Asha. Her gait always was distinct, very unlike the heavy footed flop of Johnny’s feet. Clearing his throat, Cyrus sends her a confused smile that she doesn’t return.

Carefully Asha folded her arms in front of her and opened her mouth but all that came out was white noise to him. He made a confused face and tried to sit up again, but this time he’s bound to the bed with leather straps the light is starting look too much a doctors illuminating tool.

He bares his teeth at the people around him that just seemed to rise from the ground like silent statues as a man lifts up a syringe filled with something green. He doesn’t get the chance to fight back against the heavy cuffs on his wrists and elbows before the needle pierces the thin skin of his forearm.

As his eyes roll back once more, Cyrus swears he can hear laughing and outraged screaming over the pounding of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears.

Yes, this is what insanity feels like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is meant to be a mindfuck.   
> But something like this does happen to this boss following the events of SR IV.   
> For those who follow the blog, there are hints of Grant here and also a sad guest appearance of Bradshaw.


	13. Mornings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The typical morning events for Asha, Johnny and the boss between their two homes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'ed.

Johnny quietly decided one day, before the sun had even risen, that morning was by far his favorite time of the day. In the Zin ship, he wakes up to a starry sky in a warm room; in the hotel, he wakes up to dark grey skies with the last twinkles of a star’s dying breath and the first few birds already out hunting for worms.

Sometimes, he loves the endless darkness that is space. He enjoys standing by any place where he could get a decent view and letting his thoughts trail and linger from star to star. He almost finds the empty light they emit peaceful, but it’s still a bit frightening, he has to admit.

The only way Johnny can keep track of time is by the small watch wrapped around his wrist, the blue numbers blinking at him from the nearly too small screen and the calendar on his outdated phone. Cyrus is always up and on the move before seven am, his duties keeping him from ever sleeping in easily here. Throughout the sounds of the boss’ rough morning, Johnny quietly brews a pot of coffee and offers one cup to Asha when she comes staggering out of the bedroom.

The early, steady start to their day is almost mechanical. The dark circles disappear from under Cyrus’ eyes throughout the day and a smile is slowly coaxed onto the blond’s features when something akin to a cup of orange juice is pressed into his palm in the morning. Asha’s hair loses the frizz after her time in the bathroom, and she falls easily into her daily duties the second the boots go on.

It’s slowly becoming the norm. The stars and the shitty coffee. Johnny’s internal clock is never off, and it’s been ingrained into his system that he needs to get up, move, and be productive at the start of the morning.

Other times, he loves listening to the quiet, beating thrum that was the odd city outside. It didn’t work like a normal city, and instead felt like it was alive under all the concrete. Johnny can sometimes _taste_ the energy zipping through the air and he knows the city is _aware_ of the other bosses presence.

Despite that unsettling fact, Johnny finds himself drawn into the peaceful mornings with the cool breeze and scents of a fresh rain. It’s not Earth by any means, but it’s _something_. He’s glad for the large balcony, especially in the early morning where the pools night-lights are still shimmering purple and blue until the clock automatically kicks them off.

He leans against the railing and watches as the odd citizens of the city slowly come to life, twisting and churning their way down the streets like an army of ants. Gat sometimes wonders why some people rise before the sun, and tries to come up with a few jobs that would require the early, hellish mornings.

His eyes, unshielded by the shades, rise to see the faint outline of a moon still hanging in the darkened sky and Johnny lets himself drink in the crisp air before slipping back inside their home.

There’s no real rush in this world. He doesn’t have to jump on making coffee, and he knows he has another two hours before Asha springs out of bed to head out for a jog with their dog. Cyrus will be _lucky_ if he’s out of bed before eleven.

Johnny can take the time to relax, tidy up or have a nice little spray down before even starting on breakfast. Some days, he’ll feel motivated to make a large banquet and try to pry his lovers from the room with the promise of bacon; but mostly, Johnny finds himself drawn into the mess of bedding Cyrus and Asha wrap themselves up in.

Half of the time, the blond boss was smothered under the cool side of a pillow with Asha’s legs tangled thoroughly with his and Johnny was glad that Cyrus had a habit of sleeping on his back as he easily readjusts the pillow, ensuring that the smaller man could breathe easily.

It’s all too tempting to slip into the bed besides them, settle in close to Cyrus’ flank and throw an arm around them, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of Asha’s shoulder. Sometimes, she’ll stir, give a little growl and stare at him with dark, sleepy eyes before humming and burrowing her head by Cyrus’ chin and catching a few more minutes of rest. Cyrus hardly ever moves, the boss wrapped up in his worriless dreams made only by dead exhaustion. Nightmares still plagued Cyrus’ mind, and Johnny had learned how to handle the fitful sleeping patterns and jerky awakenings in the middle of the night, quietly and calmly.

He lets himself watch them sometimes, back turned to the window as Gat simply takes in their sleeping features. Asha looks so peaceful; her brows relaxed and tied hair trailing around the bed like a proud snake while her hands were slightly curled against the sheets. Johnny knows all too well that she can go from deep sleep to survival mode in record timing, and he makes sure not to bother her too much with any touches along her skin, despite how tempting it is.

Cyrus always managed to end up sandwiched between the two of them, one hand tucked up on his chest while the other was thrown way above his head, the blond’s fingers touching the cool oak headboard of the bed. His fingers on his right hand occasionally seem to twitch in his sleep, while the scars littering his left arm always manage to draw in Gat’s attention. He still remembers the crash that caused the majority of the markings on the boss’ skin.

Half the time, Johnny doesn’t even remember dozing off, but whenever he feels Asha’s body exiting the bed, he narrows his eyes against the first light of day and watches while the agent stretches and heads off down the hall with Maddie bounding excitedly after her. Cyrus, upon losing the extra warmth on his right, curls up on his left side, content to use Johnny as another alternate heat source.

He can hear Asha making a pot of coffee, and it isn’t long until she’s slipping back inside the room to change into her running clothes and gift them with their ‘good morning kisses’. When the front door opens and closes, leaving the large home with a ringing silence, Johnny distracts himself by slipping his hands up and down Cyrus’ flank.

The boss doesn’t startle as easily as Asha, and Johnny has found that it actually takes quite a lot to jar Cyrus from such a deep sleep – which is almost worrying – but he tries to focus on the blond’s deep breathing and not his bothersome thoughts.

Eventually though, when Asha returns and shakes him awake once more, Johnny leaves Cyrus to catch a few more Z’s and covers him up correctly, making sure that Cyrus wouldn’t end up burrowing into the cool underbelly of the large pillow. The two share their morning coffee with quiet whispers and lingering kisses until they’re too hungry to wait any longer and go to drag the boss from the depths of his slumber, unless Maddie demands Cyrus’ attention first.

As he cooks scrambles eggs and watches as Cyrus nearly nods off while trying to drink some orange juice, Gat grins to himself and passes Asha over the first slice of freshly cooked bacon. Yes, he thinks, he loves mornings the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was just compelled to write this so yeah!  
> Hope you enjoyed the read. :3


	14. You're Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny approaches Cyrus after watching his boss drop weight and lose sleep because of the simulation and the lingering guilt over planet earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some mention of sleep deprivation and includes a character starving themselves somewhat in order to focus on other things. If any of that bothers you -- then please don't read!  
> This isn't the happiest fic.

Johnny watched as the boss made his way down the long stretch of stairs, narrowing his eyes behind the tinted glasses as the blond stumbled his way into the little alcove Pierce had set up. Cyrus collapsed onto the couch with a muffled moan of pain, curling onto his side with one arm pillowed under his head for support.

Pierce glances up from his reading, legs swinging off the pool table as he takes in the boss’ fetal form. Cyrus’ hair was growing out now, his brown roots starting to shine through the platinum pale locks. His bright blue eyes were dull with lack of sleep and stress. The normally form fitting blue space suit was starting to loosen in areas, showing the truth of his weight loss, and even the outline of his ribcage is starting to draw attention. Nobody has said anything yet.

The man turned his attention to Gat as the larger Saint lumbered in, looking equal parts worried and pissed. Cyrus didn’t even seem to realize that Johnny had entered, his back turned to them both and eyes tightly closed. For a split second, Pierce met Johnny’s gaze and the silent message was realized with a single cutting look.

Johnny wanted to talk to Cyrus. _Alone_.

Casually, he tosses the magazine onto the green felt table and hops down to the floor soundlessly. Gat watches as Pierce moves out of the room with a determined bounce in his step and hopes that he’ll go distract Shaundi. He wanted to talk to the boss for a few minutes before the woman came to check up on him.

With trepidation, Johnny tosses his knives onto the pool table, ruining the game Pierce had as balls scattered with little pings of metal against their candy like shells. The noise makes Cyrus heave in a deep breath, eyes cracking open slightly and head turning to regard the source of the sound. Upon seeing Gat there, the man only curled up tighter and forced his gaze onto the back of the couch once more.

“Cy.” Johnny warned, hands curling into fists as he watched Cyrus’ chest rise and fall with each breath and traced the curve of his boss’ back from where he stood. No response came and the man had to step up to Cyrus and place a carefully restrained hand on the blond’s shoulder. “Cyrus, look at me.”

Finally, the man turned his blue eyes onto Gat and rolled onto his back with an unimpressed growl. “I’m trying to sleep, Johnny.” He warns after clearing his throat, he hates how awfully thin his voice sounds. “Tired.” Cyrus informs before trying to curl back up, only to have Johnny keep him pinned flat on his back with a steady hand braced on his chest.

“And I’m trying to fucking talk to you, boss.” Johnny spits out before he can get a handle on his tone, and it comes out in a pissed off rumble resonating deep inside his chest. Cyrus stares at his upside down image for a moment before slowly sitting up, Gat allowing him to move as he pulled his hand away.

The blond occupies only one cushion now, gesturing for Johnny to take a seat next to him, which his lieutenant does so willing. After a few seconds, Cyrus takes his gaze off the floor and raises his eyebrows expectantly. “Then talk to me, Johnny.”

Gat sucks in a deep breath and for a moment, they simply rest in complete silence as Johnny figures out how to articulate his unease without sounding too chastising. Finally, he muttered, “I’m worried about you, Cy.” Eyes narrowed once more behind the shades as he watched Cyrus carefully from the corner of his eye.

The boss’ lips thinned out disapprovingly and Cyrus was quick to defend himself. “I’m fine, man. Just a little tired – nothing I can’t handle.” His voice is still lacking its usual carefree tone, and he bares his teeth for a second as if to compensate for the weak and whispery tone. “I’ve gotta keep destroying the simulation, we’re getting close now. Soon we’ll have it completely shut down.”

“You’ve got to take care of _yourself_ first. I know your trying to take down this Zinyak motherfucker – and believe me, I want my revenge too, but you’re not going to manage it like this.” Johnny pauses for a second, making sure he’s got the boss’ full attention before continuing, “Look at you, Cy. When’s the last time you’ve had a good sleep – or actually ate a full fucking meal without being interrupted for that stupid simulation?”

Cyrus shrugs his shoulders compulsively, because really, he _doesn’t_ know. It’s been a blur of stepping into the simulation chair and stumbling throughout the ship only to have Kinzie and Miller send him back into the virtual world for one reason or another. Despite his need to retaliate, Cyrus knew that Johnny was right. He was running himself into the ground at this rate.

They sit in a hesitant silence before Johnny places a hand over Cyrus’ knee and slowly rubs his thumb into the joint soothingly. The boss stutters out a sigh, relaxing back against the couch bonelessly for a few seconds before he tips his head up and stares at the light fixtures for a moment. When Cyrus looks away, black dots are dancing across his vision but he still gives Johnny a knowing, admitting smile.

“Do I really look that bad?” Cyrus asks, eyes now glued to the faded ink on Johnny’s forearm as the man continues the comforting movements with his thumb. Johnny doesn’t answer for a few moments, and it makes the boss swallow nervously. “Shit, Johnny – I’m just – I can’t focus on myself right now. I’ve got to – to do _something_ after he destroyed Earth. Millions – _Billions_ ,” He corrects with a breathless growl, “Died. Instantly ripped apart all because of _me_.”

That makes Gat’s movements pause and the hand on Cyrus’ knee drifts up to his shoulders, pulling Cyrus close without any resistance as the boss allows himself to be curled up into some sort of a pitying hug. Johnny’s arm drapes over one of the blond’s shoulders, and the palm of his large hand lands on the base of Cyrus’ neck, gently running over the fine hairs that had grown there from lack of a barber. “Zinyak killed them, Cyrus. Not you.”

“But he warned me-” Cyrus insists, voice increasing in volume uncontrollably in a blatant show of his distress.

“Do you really think he would’ve kept our planet intact after he took what people he wanted?” Gat finds himself lowering his voice in a subconscious way to try and calm Cyrus’ already fried nerves down. “Listen, Cy, I know you want revenge. I know you want to rip that alien fucker’s throat out with your bare hands and watch him bleed – but if you’re going to do that, you’ve got actually have enough strength.” He presses his nose into the top of Cyrus’ mused hair, eyes closing as he tightens his hold on the boss. “Watching you torture yourself like this…” Johnny finds that he doesn’t have the words to describe what it makes him feel like, and he settled for shaking his head and letting out a little growl.

The blond stays still for a moment, listening to Johnny’s deep rumbling near his ear and feeling the warmth of his breath cascading over his face before he lifts an arm up and wraps it around Johnny’s side. “Okay.” Cyrus sighs after a moment, whispering now as he closed his eyes. “Okay, Johnny… you’re right. This isn’t going to solve anything if I’m half ways emaciated, right?” He tries to add a little humor to the mix, a chuckle cracking out of his throat as he presses his forehead into the curve of Johnny’s shoulder in hopes of hiding his embarrassing tears.

Johnny forces himself to laugh along with Cyrus, even though he feels like doing the exact opposite. He brings his hand up to thread through the hair on the back of Cyrus’ head and uses his other hand to keep up a soothing stroke up and down the blond’s flank when his boss starts heaving in wet breaths. 

Gat tries to ignore the temptation of counting the ribs that bump along his fingertips with every touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cyrus kind of started to let himself go after Earth got destroyed, it really did a number on his psyche and he copes by forcing stress onto his body, both emotional and physical.
> 
> I don't really know what happened in this little fic but here it is anyways.


	15. Demon AU 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinzie and Johnny are now demons. Cyrus finds this to be a little unnerving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally and AU based of Gat Out of Hell, because I like demons.   
> >;3

Cyrus ran his palm over the curve of Johnny’s newly acquired horns, feeling the bumps and grooves underneath his skin as he grasped the things carefully. “When did _these_ happen?” He asked, eyes narrowing curiously as Johnny merely gave a low growl in response.

It had only been a few hours since he’d ‘woken up’ once more, his soul fitting perfectly back up into his body and offering the coma-like shell some form of life again. 

The taller Saint had yet to leave him alone. Eyes always carefully tracking his movements, and rumbles always permeating the air whenever Cyrus strayed too far from Vogel’s office. 

Right now, they sat on a deep burgundy sofa, curled up together as Kinzie talked with Dane in hushed, raging tones. Blue eyes watched from behind cracked lenses as Kinzie’s tail flicked back and forth in an irritated fashion. The purple markings on both of the Saints are glowing softly in the dim light of Dane’s office, the red hologram casting an ominous undertone to the entire area.

Johnny finally inclined his head, voice rougher than it used to be as he pulled Cyrus’ wandering hands away from his curled, bull-like horns. “Dane claims we overused the _Halo_ … corrupted ourselves.” He grates out, running his thumbs over the scars on Cyrus’ fingers.

The boss doesn’t say anything in return, merely watching the glow of Johnny’s ancient powers pulse in time with his relaxed heart-rate. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, there's the first part to this demon AU! Probably more to come until I grow tired of it. :|  
> Post [explaining](http://cyrusforpresident.tumblr.com/post/110989040721/cyrus-in-goh) what happened to Cy in GOoH.   
> Also some [art I made](http://cyrusforpresident.tumblr.com/post/111681985506/polargrizz47-almost-thought-i-lost-you-back) of Gat and Cy in GOoh~! (not demon!Gat tho.)


	16. Demon AU 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demons are overly protective... who knew?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mhmh more unedited demons.

Johnny firmly grabbed Cyrus by the chin, lifting his head up to examine the ugly purplish mark and the cut on Cyrus’ cheek. Lips parted into an unimpressed snarl, the thick canines showing for only a moment as he growled, “What happened?”

The blond boss simply shrugged, flashing an unapologetic smile as he felt the taller Saint thumb the cut tenderly. “Nothing. Just some assholes.”

"Just some assholes," Johnny repeats, eyes narrowing dangerously behind tinted frames as he placed one large hand firmly on Cyrus’ shoulder, steering him into the Ultor building with another resonating growl. 

Kinzie looks up the moment they enter, tail flipping to one side and curled horns shining in the dim light of Dane’s front office. “What happened?” She parroted unknowingly, swiftly moving over to place one burnt hand on Cyrus’ cheek, examining the mark and allowing her eyes to darken considerably. 

Cyrus merely heaved a sigh; living with newly made demons had proven to be more exhausting than he originally thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Johnny being protective in a slightly overbearing way will always fuel me, especially if it's demon!Johnny.


	17. Cyrus Temple FF+

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> President Cyrus gets a very disturbing message...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in response for this tumblr prompt: Send me "ff+" and a character name and my character will react to finding and reading a graphic and sex-filled fanfiction of themselves and that character.  
> I got asked: "FF+ Cyrus Temple!"  
> These are the unedited results.

Cyrus thought that all the excitement about Temple had dwindled out into a nonexistent smudge; after all, the man was killed more than twelve months ago, leaving him hailed a hero for saving many lives by destroying that missile. But one day, an anonymous messenger sent him a link to  _something_ , and although the slightly tipsy President knew better than to trust suspicious senders, that somehow got his phone number, he just  _couldn’t_  resist.

The link took him to a fanfiction, surprisingly. It was like a train wreck, Cyrus knew that he should look away, but at the same time, he couldn’t. The words disgusted him just enough to captivate him.

> The older man pulled the Saint’s helmet off, revealing a mess of slightly sweaty, dark curls. The Boss snarls, blue eyes narrowing as he arched his back up to meet the body of his enemy. Their teeth clashed together in a dangerous, burning kiss and an armored thigh rubbed through the elders cargo pants -

Cyrus felt his face burn with an odd combination of rage and embarrassment, a growl bubbling up through clenched teeth as he abruptly stood up and yanked out his .44, aiming the barrel at the innocent phone and blasting a hole right through it.

As secret service members burst into his room, The President simply slipped his gun away and seethed, “Tell Miss Kensington that I need to a new phone. And a new fucking number.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goooddness. XD  
> This was shocking to write.


	18. FF+ Kinzie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinzie finds some very interesting stories online...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in response for this tumblr prompt: Send me "ff+" and a character name and my character will react to finding and reading a graphic and sex-filled fanfiction of themselves and that character.  
> The prompt was: "ff+ Cy and Kinzie"

Kinzie had to re-read the summary three times before even opening up the actual story, glancing around her hideout once more as she settled in to give the fanfiction a more thorough reading.

> The Boss squirmed in the chair, whimpering through the ball gag as he felt the first trailing sensations of the ex-FBI agent’s fingers slipping up and under his shirt. Blunt nails teased the toned skin of his stomach, leaving him to writhe against the chair, pulling at the soft handcuffs entrapping his wrists. His cheeks were alight with embarrassment and desperation, the flushed color starting to tint with a thin sheen of sweat from how long Kinzie had kept him needy like this –

“Hey, Kinz!” Cyrus barked, knocking on her door and then asking through the thick wood, “We’re all going to get some pizza for tonight’s party. Johnny’s buying. You want anything?”

She had to carefully clear her throat before answering, “Some diet soda would be great!” Her voice didn’t show the fact that she had just been reading smutty fanfiction of the man and herself, and Cyrus gave a soft blirp of understanding, promising to fetch the soda before Kinzie heard his soft footsteps leaving the door.

Eyes wandering back to the screen, Kinzie mentally chastised herself and went to exit the tab…

…but maybe she should bookmark it, just for later…  _reference_ …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HHEHEHEHEHEHE  
> Oh, Kinzie.


	19. FF+ CID

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CID's attempts to woo Cyrus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in response for this tumblr prompt: Send me "ff+" and a character name and my character will react to finding and reading a graphic and sex-filled fanfiction of themselves and that character.  
> The prompt was: "ff + Cyrus and CID"

Cyrus swung his legs off the edge of the stairs, watching as Asha honed up her skills on the decimated punching bag. He was almost waiting for the poor thing to fall off the hook, but most of his attention was drawn to Asha’s back.

It wasn’t often that she wore the old, rumpled tank-top, but in the rare instances of heat and boredom, she’d slip out of the turtleneck and give the bag a good beating. Her skin was flecked with scars, thin and long, jagged and wide, and Cyrus made a mental note to ask about them more often.

“Excuse me, Boss?” CID’s automatic tone made Cyrus jerk in alarm, smacking his knee on the railing and immediately causing the boss to scowl. 

"Don’t sneak up on  me like that, CID, goodness…" The man’s lips twitch into another little mock growl, turning his attention onto the floating AI. "What do you need now?"

"I have written something that might interest you." The monotone, slightly sarcastic tone resonates from the metallic shell and Cyrus leans forward curiously. "Allow me to print it for you." CID’s body shakes a little and there was a soft whirling sound echoing from the depths of his lifeless body.

"Print it? Wait, you’ve had a fucking  _printer_ this entire time?” Cyrus’ eyes widen behind the thick frames as suddenly, three pages worth of small font lands on the stairs. 

"Apologies, I am not equipped with a stapler. However, I am equipped with _other things_ …” The AI bobs once in place before slowly hovering away, leaving Cyrus to stare at his retreating from with a look of confusion and slight disgust.

Shaking his head, the boss merely picks up the sheets and puts them in order, scanning the words and narrowing his eyes. “The fuck?”

> "There are other ways to pleasure the human body," The superior, handsome AI’s voice is a thick and comforting blanket that puts the nervous man at ease. Softly twinkling lights create a wonderful mixture of blues and pinks against The Boss’ reddened and exposed skin. As the pleasing-to-the-eye metallic shell looms closer, the artificially created blond squirms against the inflatable mattress, breath catching in his throat as the AI began to demonstrate —

"CID, WHAT THE FUCK?!" Cyrus shouted, throwing the pages away like he’d been burnt and causing Asha to startle from his unexpected outburst. Johnny lifts his head and twirls the knife around his knuckles once before both the agent and the man go to see what had caused Cyrus to become so distraught. 

The orb casually floats over to Shaundi, and proceeds to print off another three pages worth of romance material, featuring the woman herself this time. He had gathered research insisting that humans devoured romance novels like their favorite ice-cream. His two prime choices would be helpless to his literary genius. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've been scarred for life just writing that. Tried to add as much as CID's ego as I could into the glimpse of the fic. XD


	20. Drunken Cy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The President gets a little tispy, resulting in hilarity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in response to a tumblr pairing drabble. The prompt was: "I’m pregnant."  
> Unedited.

Asha indulges Cyrus by spinning him around the dancefloor once more, ignoring the looks that are cast their way as The President gives another drunken, slurred laugh. He steps on her heeled feet more than once, and for the hundredth time that night, the agent is thankful for her fast reflexes.

“Cyrus,” She mutters, letting a grin creep onto her features unknowingly as he starts into another drunken babble about some damned congressman before he suddenly becomes very serious and stares into her eyes with a straight face.

Asha blinks curiously and gives him her full attention, their movements pausing momentarily as The Boss thins his lips and says in all seriousness, “I’m pregnant.”

For a whole thirty seconds, the MI6 agent was speechless, green eyes boring into blue as Cyrus’ stern expression never wavered. Finally, Asha threw her head back, and in a rare display of carefreeness, she started laughing.

The light and bubbly laugh caused numerous people to stare at them again, and slowly Cyrus lets a tipsy smile settle over his features once more as she takes his reddened face in both hands and giggles, “ _Oh_ , Cy. You’re so wasted right now, sweetie. Let’s get you to bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asha, you're too precious sometimes.   
> ;A;


	21. Broken Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny lets his anger get the best of him, and he finds himself cleaning up broken glass in the mid-morning hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'ed. :|

The broken glass in the kitchen was the only tangible sign of their argument, and Johnny spent a few minutes composing himself while he sorted out the larger shards from the mess of orange juice.

He’d crossed a line, and wasn’t sure how he was going to reason with the boss in this state. Losing Earth had hit them all hard, but Johnny knew it had _devastated_ Cyrus.

Quietly, he placed the large shards in the damp paper towel and tossed them into the trash. Johnny paused carefully after the dull ‘thunk’ of the glass hitting the bottom resonated throughout the still kitchen.

Ears were tuned in to pick up any sound of Cyrus moving in their bedroom or bathroom. Johnny half expected the man to tear the shelves off the wall, but then again, Cyrus always liked to suffer in the silence.

Guiltily, the man turned back towards the mess and crouched down with another handful of paper towels to mop up the concoction of glass and juice.

Gat’s mind replayed the events of the morning glumly, the older man felt the hollow and numbing dread was starting to eat him up inside.

_“This is goddamned bullshit, Cyrus. And you know it.” Johnny spat, leaning against the dark granite counter as he crossed his arms. The blond’s hands shake as he pours himself a glass of juice, refusing to make eye contact. “We should just go fucking hunt him down.”_

_“It’s not that easy.” Cyrus mumbled gently, trying to calm Johnny’s rage. “We’ve got to be careful – Grant’s a slippery snake. And he’s bit me more than once.”_

_The larger Saint scoffed, “Oh, please. Spare me the caring act. We just need to pick up a gun, a map, and hunt this bastard down.”_

_“The caring act? I’m not going to risk the remaining Saints and humans on some cocked up rabbit hunt - ”_

_Before Johnny could stop himself from interrupting, he growled, “Well, you certainly took a gamble with Earth.”_

_The silence that rang through the room was instantaneous, Cyrus’ rant cut short as he stared at his lover with a shocked and hurt look. Mouth slightly agape and blue eyes wide behind the thick frames, the juice threatens to slide from his hand, and Johnny is paralyzed with the impact of his words._

_For a few moments, they stand there. Eyes locked into one another’s as Cyrus starts to tremble very lightly. Gat can’t hold his gaze long, and he kicks himself mentally for bringing that subject up._

_Finally, Cyrus thins his lips into an unimpressed sneer and narrows his eyes. He pushes himself away from the island in the kitchen and stands up very smoothly, his body nothing but controlled now. “Well, if that’s how you feel.” He spits, trying to overcome the sudden depression with anger._

_“Cyrus – I - ” Johnny starts, moving away from the counter quickly with his palms open in surrender. “I’m sorry - ”_

_The actions are enough to push Cyrus over the edge. He lifts his hand up like he’s going to hit Gat, but the movement is halted when Johnny clasps a hand around his wrist. Jolted by the sudden touch, Cyrus throws his juice to the floor with a shout of anger, trying to yank his other arm free of Johnny’s touch. “No – no, Johnny –_ Sorry _?! How dare you!”_

_“Cyrus, please,” Johnny soothes, trying to pacify the other man while ignoring the sound of glass crunching underfoot as they move._

_“Let go of me.” Cyrus warns, his voice thin and trembling while he yanks his arm once more. Johnny yields, the touch slipping away as he backs up and gives the boss his much needed space._

_Cyrus squeezes his hands into fists, fixing Johnny with a glare that falls short with the pain in his gaze. “Just…” He sucks in a breath through clenched teeth, shoulders shaking as he resists the mixed urges to either break down or attack Johnny. “Give me a sec, yeah?”_

_Johnny nods once, watching as Cyrus stalks across the kitchen and vanishes down the hall, leaving the older man standing in the kitchen with broken glass and orange juice between his boots._

“Fuck…” Johnny growls, staring at the half cleaned mess before tossing the damp towels on the tiled floor with a heaving breath. He stands up too quickly and gives a grunt in pain when his knee tenses stubbornly, causing him to sway and slam both hands on the counter with another snarl. “Fuck!” The man repeats, staring at his distorted reflection in the mirror-like surface of the granite with a guilty frown tugging at his features.

The silence still rings after his exasperated cursing, and Johnny closed his eyes, letting the hanging stillness of the flat wash over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An incident I was inspired to write a few nights ago.


	22. Quite Troublesome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Zinyak keeps Cyrus from ever ruining his leadership.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited.   
> An interesting idea I had and wanted to write down.

“Sir, I fail to see how this boy could’ve ruined everything.” The smaller alien chirped, standing by the Zin Overlord as they both gazed into the soft, blue glow of the containment tank.

Zinyak merely chuckled, glancing sideways at Zinjai with his lips pulled into a plotting grin. “This little one turns out to be… quite troublesome in the future. Hopefully taking him out of the equation will reap more pleasant results.”

“He’s so young… what are you going to do with him?” The dedicated right-hand-man of the ruler asked, eyes lingering on the resting child curiously.

The ruler easily reached up and tapped on the glass, watching as the blue gel swished under his assault, but the small teenager didn’t stir. “I’m going to keep him in his own little world. I don’t want to break him. Not yet.”

“Not yet?”

“He’s too valuable… perhaps he will be of use someday. I need him sane if that’s the case.” Zinyak narrowed his eyes at the serene expression on the human’s face before turning around to observe some of the other creatures he kept in the collector’s room, preserving the most awe-inspiring subjects in a creative, but relaxing way.

Zinjai pursed his lips as he took in some of the information about the human teenager displayed on the side of the tank, letting the Zin Ruler stroll through the room casually while he silently read. 

_Cyrus T. “Winters”_

_16 Earth Years_

_5’2’’ Feet Tall_

_Simulation setting: False reality, training and shaping program initiated. Preserving personality and exploring sanity._

As the smaller alien hurried to follow Zinyak out of the hall, he couldn’t help but to shiver at the odd sense of worry and anxiety that traveled throughout his body. Something didn’t set right with him about all of this, and he gave the earthling one last glance over his shoulder before the doors sealed closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was just a little interesting AU to explore.  
> Zinyak went back into Cy's SR1 timeline and kidnapped him, keeping him from ever furthering his career as a Saint.  
> This probably gets pretty dark and they train Cyrus into a skilled, distant 'agent' for the Zin empire. Probably to scope out candidate planets for impending invasions.


	23. Masquerade Ball AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU where Johnny and Cy meet at a masquerade ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited!  
> Written in response to this:  
> "Shipping drabble: 34, meeting at a masquerade ball au with Cy and Johnny please!"

Johnny didn’t know why he allowed himself to be dressed up and dragged into the crowded ball, for charity reasons or not, he wasn’t fond of the posh setting and the elders that strutted around with enough money to send somebody to college seven times over.

The mask fitted close to his face, leaving his eyes for all to see as the tips of the wings spreading over the mask made it impossible to wear his shades. The tall man kept to the shadows, stayed close to the walls and watched people mingle and clink their glasses together.

When the slow, yet somehow erotic music started, he narrowed his eyes and watched the dancefloor intensely. Although he wasn’t having a good time himself, he knew that one of his friends loved to dance – she was a natural.

However, when Shaundi slid onto the dancefloor in a sharp pair of stilettos and holding the hand of a smaller blond man, Johnny’s interests was piqued. Shaundi normally wasn’t the type to dance with strangers, not in this setting. Although the man did look familiar somehow…

The strangers mask was a mixture of dark purples and golds, and his eyes, although shaded, were a shocking, bright blue. Johnny didn’t even notice that he was drifting closer, sliding through people as the two swiftly twirled through the dancefloor.

Shaundi’s gown flowed effortlessly behind her as they flowed together, the stranger bowing her gently and then twirling her at arm’s length away as she turned on her heel. By the time she noticed him, the song was coming to a close, and her dance partner smiled happily as he let her hand slide from his.

Johnny crossed his arms and merely raised a brow when Shaundi slid closer to him, watching as the stranger vanished into the crowd – presumably heading back to his seat. “I saw you watching.” The woman said proudly, nudging him as the crowd that had gathered on the dancefloor slowly dispersed.

“Of course I was… who was that?” Johnny nodded in the direction the stranger vanished into.

“He’s a great dancer… cute too. It’s a shame that mask covers up his eyes…” Shaundi watched Johnny’s reaction carefully, grinning as she watched the desire spark in his dark eyes. “Do you want to meet him?” She urged, taking Johnny by the arm to lead him to the simple little table in the dark corner.

The stranger was curled up quietly by himself, tracing the edge of a cup and watching the others around him curiously. When he spotted Shaundi and Johnny coming up, a small smile spread across his features.

“Hey, Cy.” Shaundi cooed, pressing closer to his side and nudging his arm as Johnny took the other seat beside him. “This is Johnny.”

The man merely nodded, flashing a grin as he looked the blond over. Cyrus felt the color rise to his cheeks as he made eye-contact with the larger man, “I’m Cyrus. Pleasure to meet you…” He offered a hand and Johnny took it in a firm handshake.

“Pleasure is all mine…” Johnny purred, leaning closer subtly just to enjoy the height he had on the blond. The red dusting the man’s cheekbones was pleasing, and Johnny wanted to slip that mask off and get a good look at his facial structure. Maybe even coax a darker blush on his candle-lit skin just to see those blue eyes stand out more.

Shaundi leaned back and toyed her drink, feeling nothing but smug glee as she got up to give the two some space. Pierce’s mouth dropped as Shaundi slipped next to him and nodded towards the two in the corner. “I told you he’d like Cyrus. The man is an unfortunate mixture of shy and cute.”

“Remind me,” Pierce started before nudging at his mask, “How did you meet that man again?”

“Cyrus?” Shaundi smirked and crossed her arms. “You sure you want to hear that story?”

“On second thought... Never mind.” He said wisely, narrowing his eyes to get a better look in the dark environment, trying to pick up better on Johnny’s and Cyrus’ actions by the table.

He had a feeling that Johnny wasn’t going to be leaving quite as early as he proclaimed, if Cyrus’ body language was any indicator. Head tipped towards Johnny, a shy smile on his features and body slightly curved towards the larger man. And he’d be damned if he didn’t think Johnny was already into the smaller blond.

“So… Shaundi,” Pierce started, offering his hands out as another song started. “May I have this dance?”

The woman flashed a grin, grasping his hands and pulling him onto the dancefloor with a devious glint in her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aweeee yeaahhhh.  
> I also ship Shaundi and Pierce in Cy's verse. >:3


	24. Tourist/Knowledgeable local au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU where Cyrus never left France and instead followed his early dreams of becoming a biology teacher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited!  
> Written in response to this:  
> "Tourist/knowledgeable local au for Cyrus and Johnny (your choice which is which xD)"  
>  >:3

Johnny had never been to France, it wasn’t really on his rolodex of wants, but when work dictated, he followed orders and kept his head down. That was how he ended up on the lawn in front of the Eiffel Tower, staring up at the grand structure with a look of awe.

“Must’ve taken fucking years to get that thing up in the air.” Johnny noted to himself, taking a healthy drink of his coffee.

“With enough motivation, even the impossible becomes possible.” A man with a light and pleasing French accent quipped as he strode by.

Johnny grunted and then smirked, “You a Mr. Know-It-All?”

“No, of course not.” The stranger paused, allowing Johnny to have a good look at him. Bright blue eyes hidden behind thick glasses, and a sweep of thick, oddly dyed hair. Blond on top, natural on the beard.

Johnny wanted to kick himself, _usually_ mismatched wasn’t his style. Shrugging, the taller man grinned and asked, “Alright… mind if I ask a question about it then?” He was really only asking just to hear the blond’s accent, just the right mixture of enthusiasm and shyness bleeding into the tones.

“Sure.” The stranger nodded, stepping closer with a little smile on his features. It seemed he was amused to be indulging a tourist.

“What’s your name?” Johnny started, and then groaned to himself at how overbearing he sounded. “I’m Johnny.” The man finished softly, offering his hand.

“Cyrus.” The blond answered, taking his hand in a nice and sweet handshake. His skin was warm, lightly calloused at the fingertips which suggested paperwork. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Johnny. Welcome to Paris.”

Johnny had to restrain himself again, enjoying the way Cyrus’ ‘r’s’ rolled nicely off his tongue. “Hey, thanks. So, when did the tower get put up?”

Cyrus scrunched his face in pain for a moment, “The _Eiffel_ tower was built in 1889, for the Paris Exposition.” While Johnny processed that, Cyrus continued. “Interestingly enough, it was never intended to be kept… could you imagine?”

Johnny tried to picture just a green lawn where the structure was currently, but he figured it was more horrifying for the Parisians. “Nope, it’d look empty.”

“Good thing they kept it, it makes money. Nearly 7 million people visited in 2011… Oh, I’m sorry. I must be rambling.” Cyrus flushed and Gat smiled kindly.

“No problem Cyrus, feel free to gush all you want. I don’t know much of anything about this.” Johnny admitted, enjoying the relieved smile that spread over the blond’s features. “So… you want to teach me about the tower? Maybe fetch a coffee and fill me in on it?”

His cup was already gone, smaller portion sizes were killing him.

Cyrus checked his watch, then shrugged and said, “Well… I don’t have anything else scheduled for today. I know a café close by...” Blue eyes peered at him curiously and Johnny smiled in response.

“I’d like that.” He chuckled, watching the tower against the blue skies, “I’d like that a lot Cyrus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe, this one was fun.


	25. Endgame Drabble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agreeing to be a vessel wasn't such a good idea...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited!  
> Rather creepy, warnings for violence, odd vessel issues and blood!

Miller picked himself up of the ground with a wet snarl, his teeth elongating and blood boiling. His blue eyes narrowed behind the sweaty mess of his bangs and he spit out the mouthful of rotted blood from his teeth.

Cyrus watched him carefully from the shade of the jungle around them, his gaze tracking the enraged hacker’s movements. “Are you alright?” The boss asked softly at last, moving closer and offering Miller his blade back, having picked it up after the scramble. “They got away.”

“I’m fine.” Matt grumbled, snatching the blade away and wiping at his forehead. “Got away?” The little, insatiable voice in the back of his head growled gutturally. Enemies do not just _get away_. Meeting Cyrus’ unreadable gaze, Miller got the gut-feeling that the man felt the same way.

“Let’s go, then.” Cyrus bowed his head, a smirk on his lips as the two of them slid soundlessly through the jungle – an unseen force guiding them, improving their movements and heightening their senses. The extra power thrumming through their veins was merely second nature at this point, their thoughts almost shared and a bond formed between the entire crew that could awaken even the darkest of beasts within.

From the corner of his eye, Matt was just able to make out the movements of Asha, the woman a silent presence beside them, quick and ready. Her vivid green eyes didn’t blend into the lush jungle around them; instead, they stood out like an electric pop. A neon warning to those smart enough, or lucky enough, to spy them.

Following slightly behind Cyrus, Miller let his movements slow with the other man’s, both of them pausing to pick up on the chatter around them. The rebels were close, foolish in their believe that they had actually managed to take down one of ‘ _them_.’

Matt hardly felt the pain of the shot, not yet, not until he managed to calm down and put the beast at rest. The monster blocked out more than pain, it was a parasite – a sickness that could inhibit memories and grant near-super-power like strength in a time of need.

It was alive, _they_ were alive – sharing a body and providing bonuses for both vessel and occupier.

As the lithe man flicked his blade and moved ahead slowly, picking up on Cyrus’ silent go-sign, Miller allowed that greedy voice in the back of his head to soothe him.

His eyes locked onto the dusty figure of a man leaning against the tree, several vitals cropping up in his mind as he moved silently closer and closer. They were sitting ducks like this, pompous, joyous, ducks. _Targets_. An obstacle Miller was willing to destroy, just another slice off the snake.

The man was helpless to his attack, one hand at his throat, the blade sinking deep as Miller watched Asha and Cyrus pounce on the remaining two, each of them dragging their chosen victims into the greenery to finish the job.

As the man’s heartrate stuttered and fluttered, Miller felt his lips curling into a sneer. He felt like _a god_ compared to this rebel, and as he stood up and dusted the debris off his shins, the hacker wondered if anyone else felt the same.

They all seemed to share the burden of being a vessel, the ecstatic moments of elated power followed by the crash and horror of their loss of humanity.

Shaking off that thought, Matt headed deeper into the forest, fell into step besides Cyrus’ flank and let his mind wander. He was more powerful than he had ever hoped to be, stuck in his physical prime yet always able to sharpen his mind. It was an odd balance of immortality and frailness that scared him sometimes, and Matt frequently questioned if agreeing to be the creature’s body was ever really a good idea…

At least he wasn’t the only one who would suffer this long fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeeaaahhh, so they all become a sort of ‘connected vessel’ for an ancient beast. Not the easiest way for them to go out, but they realized that when they agreed to be the creature’s eyes and ears.  
> They’re all still in control of themselves, and the beast will only actually take over if a vessel comes too close to death. The crew can push their bodies past the normal human lifespan, but are still susceptible to dying - given the right wound.  
> I'm reposting this from tumblr... I don't know if I've already posted this lol.


	26. Highschool Reunion AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU where Cyrus and Johnny meet again at their highschool reunion...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited!  
> Written in response to this prompt: "meeting again at a high school reunion au - Johnny and Cy"  
> Briefly mentions child abuse.

Cyrus stepped into the auditorium of his old school, smiling as he took in the gentle decorations and the few timeless faces. A lot he didn’t recognize, he’d missed a great deal of school throughout the last two years, but still managed to graduate with near perfect grades.

The reason as to why he’d missed so many days made him frown. His mother was never the one to be shy about leaving marks, especially whenever his father was away logging. Shaking his head, he moved past those unpleasant memories as he grabbed his name tag and squeezed into the dusty floors of Stillwater High.

His blue eyes scanned the crowd for any familiar faces, and he frowned as he turned up empty handed so far. Quietly, Cyrus moved to the edge of the area, leaning against the wall as he settled into the corner. He’d spend another hour here, tops.

It wasn’t much fun if he didn’t know anybody.

Time strolled by slowly, music played and drinks were shared, and a few brave souls even got up to sing karaoke. Cyrus was almost tempted to go up there and sing as well, but he didn’t want to make a fool of himself.

It wasn’t until he went to grab a refill of punch that he bumped into a blast from the past. The man was even taller than before, hair was subtly greying and his dark eyes were still hidden behind a trademark set of shades.

“Johnny?” Cyrus muttered quietly, as if he was hoping the man would be deaf now and prone to missing a whisper.

The other man tensed, and then lifted his head up from scrutinizing the dishes offered before grinning. Even with the new hair color, it wasn’t hard to realize the man’s short stature and face. He’d seen him once or twice, mostly at a few lectures and at the grocery store.

“Holy shit, is that you? Cyrus, right?” Johnny asked, features spreading into a satisfied grin. He held out a hand and Cyrus took it with a smile, their hands varying differences in softness and calluses. The blond nods happily and picks up his cup after the shake.

“In the flesh.” He teases, turning to watch the others. “So… Johnny. What are you doing now?”

For a moment, the taller man was silent, bowing his head as he shrugged. “Odd jobs, honestly.” He chuckled, the sound deep and pleasant and making a weird thrum pour into Cyrus’ chest. The heat makes his face flush and Cyrus turns back to the table.

“Odd jobs…” Cyrus mumbled over the rim of his cup, sending Gat a sympathetic smile, “Me too.” He doesn’t the miss the curious once over Johnny gives him, and he grins in response, despite his flushing features.

He remembered that Johnny had an attendance record worse than his own and that he was the kid nobody dared mess with, and Johnny would, respectfully, leave everyone alone as long as he had his space.

They moved back into the corner Cyrus had once occupied, and slowly started their own conversation about a few choice memories, curiosities and pains. Cyrus managed to glance at his watch, he was way past an hour now, but as Johnny leaned against his body and mumbled something about ‘ _That dumbass Dex_ ’, Cyrus smiled and stood closer to Johnny’s side, curious as to where the evening may take them.

It was certainly worth staying a little longer anyways, now that he had some company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh this was so hard to write but it turned out kinda cute!


	27. The Row

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Row is really no place for a child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited!  
> Cyrus is roughly 16 years old in this, give or take.

The boy balanced on one of the many rotting rafters of the old church, listening intently to Troy and Dex argue. It was rather amusing to him, a whole slew of new English curse words rattling through the empty area.

Troy finally threw his hands up halfway, brushing past the other man as he huffed and puffed at the cigarette until it had depleted into a fume of smoke. Cyrus held his breath for a few moments, disliking the smell of smoke, no matter how diluted it may be.

Blue eyes watched curiously as Dex muttered something under his breath and slipped out of the church, leaving Troy standing by the couch and glaring at the floorboards like they’d caught flame. “What was that about?” He asked loudly once he was sure Dex was out of ear shot, enjoying the way Troy jumped in surprised and whipped around to sight the source of his voice.

“Fuck, kid… don’t scare me like that.” Troy grumbled, easing his breathing and narrowing his eyes once he spotted Cyrus precariously balanced in the corner of the church, both feet planted firmly on the triangular arch. “And get the hell down here, the last thing we need is to pay for a broken arm.”

He watched silently as Cyrus placed one hand on the wall closest to him and slowly walked down to the other side, worrying immensely as the boy hopped of the highest beam and onto a slightly lower one before moving towards the poor excuse for an altar and jumping down to land on it with a muffled thud.

Troy watched as Cyrus excitedly hopped up towards him, realizing again how young the kid was and feeling an acidic burn in his throat when he noticed Cyrus was wearing purple, again. “Cy. What did I tell you about this?” He kept his voice even, even as the youngest Saint pulled the biggest puppy-dog-eyes look. “Look, nobody wants to see you getting hurt because you’re flying the Saintly flags. Just… try not to wear it too much? Shit’s getting hot.”

“Is that why you were yelling at Dex?” He asked easily, mildly disappointed that Troy was still against making him a Saint. “I can take care of myself.”

“I’m not suggesting that you can’t,” Troy said with an exasperated sigh, putting off the several times he’s found himself worrying over the strange kid or keeping tabs on him throughout the day to make sure he was still breathing. “We just had a little disagreement… he’ll get over it eventually.”

“Johnny said he’s sensitive.” Cyrus joked, grinning as he managed to make a smile appear on Troy’s pale features. The man always looked sickly to him, dark circles under his eyes and fingers always subtly trembling. Except he wasn’t sick. It was something else, Cyrus was sure of it.

“Speaking of Johnny, he’s going to be pissed when he realizes you skipped school, _again_.” Troy narrowed his eyes and nodded towards the couch, taking a seat after grabbing a beer for himself and water for Cyrus, brushing off the kid’s pout as he handed the chilled beverage to him. “Why are you crawling around up there anyways?”

“I was bored.” Cyrus supplied easily, watching Troy intently as the man took the cap off his beer and tossed it to the floor messily. “Troy?”

“Mhm?” The man hummed after taking a swig of the off brand, cheap beer, trying not to shudder at the smell.

“Could I stay at your place tonight?” The kid’s voice was low and nervous, and it caused Troy to look at him worriedly before nodding.

“Sure, kid. That’s fine. I was thinking about making enchiladas tonight anyways,” He wasn’t really, but it was Cyrus’ favorite food and he liked to spoil the wayward child. “I’ll tell Johnny.”

Cyrus’ relieved smile both comforted him and scared him.

The Row was no place for a child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;o;


	28. Writing Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyrus takes his team for a little jungle hunt...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited!  
> Rather old, but I still like it. ;o;  
> Rameses is an OC, he's part of Cy's blog and was a designer turned VK, then Saint.

Rameses kept low to the ground, avoided the broken glass and moved like fog through the wreckage. His presence was but a subtle shift in the grass, an ever present shiver across the enemies skin and the fear that kept them awake at nightfall.

Cyrus watched carefully, knowing full well that when Rameses strikes, it’d be an all out war. He stays behind the safety of a large tree, allowing the crew free range as they move about, close in and seize the moment.

The designer was already cutting out maps like fabric in his mind, maroon eyes making calculations and weighing probabilities as their targets meandered around the camp. They seemed on edge, but unaware.

Shaundi glances towards Cyrus and Johnny tenses at his heel, ready, waiting. Rameses and Miller crouch across from them, all their eyes focused on the prize as Cyrus raises his hand silently, giving the go.

As quickly as it had started, it ended. Brief, startled gunfire disturbed the forests peaceful and terrifying silence for only a moment before they easily quelled the enemies forces. Miller cleans his blades off and Johnny checks to make sure everyone was dead. Cyrus counted the bodies once, noting 23 when there _should’ve_ been 25. 

He jerks his head towards the dark foliage of the jungle and watches while Shaundi and Rameses vanish into the thick, dense trees. It isn’t long until they return, looking pleased with their efforts. All 25 accounted for, then.

“That’s all of them, by my data.” Matt says at last, blue eyes visible for only a moment as he scans the area once more. “No sign of Grant.”

“Not yet.” Cyrus nods, thinning his lips. “He’s hiding. He knows we’re coming for him now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, Rameses... ;o; I still love him, I don't give him enough love...  
> Grant is still that asshole Cyrus is hunting down. :P


	29. Apocalyptic AU Drabble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Troy messes up, and Cyrus suffers the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could also be seen as a TLOU AU?  
> Unedited!

Troy leaned against the wall in the old home, listening to the wind howling outside as the first flurry of snow reached the ground. Winter was going to be hard, it always was, but at least they’d found a good place to hide in for the evening. 

Tapping his pockets, Troy felt around for a lighter. An old habit still gnawed at him and sometimes, the ex-officer would give up a finger just it take a drag off an old cigarette. It had been months since they were lucky enough to come across any full packs, the only ones they were able to find were already half smoked. 

His gaze strayed away from the cracked window, and Troy turned to glance into the living room of the modest house. Trash was scattered on the floor and Johnny had kicked a few questionable and molding pieces of filth into the corner. 

Cyrus was already sleeping on the couch, curled up with Johnny’s thicker jacket and his trustworthy backpack. He looked fevered, but his breathing was erratic and fast. Sweat clung to his forehead and made his hair stringy in some places, while his body trembled subtly even in his sleep. 

The man heaved in a breath and forced his gaze from Cyrus’ silent suffering in favor of finding Johnny.  Gat was still in the kitchen, heating up some beans for himself and the ex-cop. With one more glance towards the younger Saint, Troy moved quietly across the tiled floor and kept his ears and eyes open for any trace of infected. His nerves were still fried thanks to the close call he’d had earlier. 

They had already checked the house thoroughly, and blocked a few rooms with holes in the walls or too broken windows; leaving them with only the bathroom, the kitchen and the living room to work with. It was more than enough, in Troy’s mind. 

“Hey.” Johnny greeted as he heard Troy enter, his attention still on the beans while he stirred the thick substance with an old wooden spoon. “Cy sleeping?”

“Yeah, he’s out.” Troy answered, rolling his shoulder and reaching up with his other hand to smooth over the tender flesh. A few more moments of tense, and uncomfortable silence formed between them, but Troy was hesitant to break the looming quietness.

Gat thinned his lips and leaned against the counter, fixing Troy with his own waiting and examining gaze. Finally, the taller Saint asked, “Did you get bit, Troy?”

The ex-officer shook his head slowly, letting out an uneven breath through his nose. “No I - I’m good… Didn’t get me.”

Brown eyes narrowed once more, and Troy almost wanted the man to start wearing his glasses again, although those particular shades were long gone. “But it got the kid.” Johnny mutters, shaking his head as he squeezed his hands into fists. “ _Fuck_ ,” his tone had thickened and Troy pushed his gaze to the floor, respecting Gat enough not to question his sorrowful mutterings. 

Soon the only sound was the wooden spoon scrapping through the beans, and Johnny’s deep breathing.  Numbly, Troy watched as Johnny divvied out an even amount into two of the few remaining bowls the house had to offer. 

While Johnny stalked into the living room with his food, Troy had enough sense to stay in the kitchen. He’d let Gat enjoy some of the last moments he’d be able to have with Cyrus, even if it was just to offer false promises or comfort the whimpering boy. 

As Troy shuffled through the drawers, looking for a spoon, he couldn’t help but to think that it should’ve been _him_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sobbing*  
> Here is their ages: Cy (18) Johnny (27) Troy (33)


	30. Get Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of Cyrus' first kills. SR1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited!  
> Warnings: Contains graphic depictions of violence, death and slight gore.

Cyrus tried to control his rapid and uneven breathing, oxygen a precious thing suddenly as the weight was lifted from his neck. He can feel the cooling blood on his fingertips; see the red substance reflecting the overhanging moon’s light as it drips from the smooth edge of his favored blade.

One hand moved defensively to his bruising throat, gasping in another breath as he leaned against the car. His vision was blurred slightly, and the boy tried to spot his glasses lying in the parking lot somewhere. They had fallen off during the struggle.

 _There,_ his mind supplies, spotting the lenses lying carelessly by the body of the larger man. _Merde!_

The Vice King was still groaning and gasping, and Cyrus suddenly finds himself overwhelmed by his wet draws of breath. Blood seeps from between his fingers, dribbles from the edges of his lips as he chokes to death on his own substance.

Blue eyes are wide, terrified suddenly and he stands there. The boy was frozen like a deer in the headlights as the large VK’s eyes swivel onto his shaking frame. If Cyrus wasn’t sure that the man was dying, he’d swear that the man was _amused_.

Getting taken out by a kid that was barely five fucking feet tall.

Sucking in another breath, Cyrus scrambled for his glasses, narrowly avoiding the lazy arm that gropes at him desperately. The man was _dying_ , and as Cyrus glances back at the blade, he realizes that he’s to blame.

There was no time to react; it was him or the VK. Cyrus had just closed his eyes and let himself _go_. Let Julius’ and Troy’s words wash over him like some guiding monologue.

  _Stab him first; you’re already holding the knife. Go for the eyes. Get out of that chokehold. Kick him in the balls; go for the kill – get away –_

 _Get away_?

Cyrus pulls his eyes from the bloodied blade and shoves it back into his pocket. Offhandedly, he notices that the man has stopped struggling so fiercely. He’s just staring at him, eye’s far-sighted and dim.

The look makes a shiver tremble up his spine, and with a slight sob, the kid turns on his heel and takes off running into the night, leaving only a body and some blood as evidence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, young Cyrus. ;A;  
> The plot for this is that Cyrus was trying to boost some of the VK’s cars for Dex, but he got caught one night by a lone gang member.


	31. Aisha Lives AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Cyrus dies instead of Aisha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited!  
> Slightly different timeline and ect...   
> Death, gore and blood warning!

Aisha sat out in her driveway, knees painfully digging into the gravel and her stocking’s completely filled with runs, but her mind was far from that right now. Her hands were stained with red, while her usually white suit was blotched and smeared with the young man’s blood as she squeezed her hands tighter around the wound that no surgeon could fix.

His eyes were half-lidded and unfocused, staring into the sky right beside her as she watched the blood bubble around his nose, the only sign of his breathing. Aisha felt violently ill, her emotions racing much like her heartrate but her mouth frozen open in shock.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Across the street she hears her neighbors calling for help, and it strikes her suddenly that she had yet to pull out her phone, her hands slicked with warmth and pressed tight to the shattered bones. Aisha wonders when the paramedics would arrive, even though she knew it’d be too late.

“Cyrus,” She croaks, throat tight as she blinks back tears. _This can’t be goodbye, please…_

He doesn’t respond, pale and clammy skin contrasting against streaks of blood and softened by the tears spilling from his blurry gaze. Holding back a sob, Aisha mentally counts the time down, praying that the paramedics arrive soon.

-:-

She was sitting in the back of a police cruiser when Johnny arrived, a blanket wrapped tight around her shivering shoulders and a towel clutched between her messy hands. Her eyes were fixated on the work of the paramedics, watching them carefully zip up the bag and hide the young man’s body from view.

All that remained was a bloodstain.

Aisha just stares at the officer when they question the events, her mind lost to the gravity of the situation. Cyrus was gone. The boy she’d seen struggle for ten years had died in her arms. The boy who slept on couches and cried in broken English was gone. The boy who had fought against men twice his age, watched his friends fall and survive a boat explosion was just killed by a simple shotgun shell.

He was gone.

And she didn’t even take the chance to say goodbye.

-:-

She visits his grave twice a week, at first. Silently sits down by the simple stone because that was all they could afford at the time. Only his name carved into the dark granite, along with his birthdate and death date.

Twenty-four years old and already gone.

Cyrus was still a child.

Aisha doesn’t know what to say, so she sits there in silence, one palm pressed against the cold stone in hopes of trying to reach him somehow.

The words ‘I’m sorry’ cut her tongue and sting her eyes.

-:-

Sorrow soon turns into a rage.

They took him from her. Stole his life away when he still had so much to learn.

Those who wore red, _would burn_.

-:-

Six years later, and she still keeps his picture on her phone. Cyrus’ blue eyes half-obscured by too big glasses and the smile on his face rivaled that of Johnny’s. She finds herself staring at it sometimes, both men pressed shoulder to shoulder with mirroring grins of excitement.

They were back, they were rebuilding.

They were _winning_.

She looks at Johnny now, a man with pent-up rage and guilt that kept him up at night, which made his punches swifter and kicks stronger against those who stood in the Saints way.

Every time she saw him slip out of bed at night hurt her, because he thought that he was the only one suffering, when she saw the light die out of Cyrus’ blank gaze.

-:-

When Johnny died, she thought about burying him in the same graveyard as Cyrus. She even invested into a plot of land.

But as she brushes the snow off Cyrus’ stone and tries to remember the sound of his voice, Aisha refuses to believe that Johnny was dead, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cries a lot*


	32. Party Woes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyrus doesn't like parties. At all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for some anxiety and fear of crowds.  
> Unedited.

Cyrus squeezed his eyes shut as another camera, with the flash on, took his picture for the hundredth time that night. He startled as he sidestepped, accidentally bumping into an older man with a nasty sneer on his features, and with a gasping breath he excused himself and took another step back the other way.

He couldn’t handle this; the entire drone conversation of the crowd was getting to him, ringing in his ears and making his anxiety spike. Cyrus didn’t like crowds, all the bodies pressing in too close and the flashing lights of a dozen cameras was starting to make him see stars.

The man nervously touched at his glasses, missing the frame as he was bumped again and instead smeared his sweaty thumbprint onto the lenses. The mark only served to confuse him more, and with an increase in his breathing, the Boss took another step back.

He had to get away from all this, and quick.

This time, he backed right into Pierce, who grabbed his shoulder to steady him before whispering a concerned, “Boss?”

Cyrus squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, one hand clasping over Pierce’s forearm trustingly as his lieutenant got the message. Quietly, Pierce lead him away from all the nagging reporters and weaved the smaller man through the throng of bodies, ignoring the way Cyrus’ grip was starting to tremble on his arm.

Pierce was thankful to spot Shaundi by the stairs, and with a frantic gesture, he earned her attention. The woman could move surprisingly fast in those heels, never missing a beat as she came up to stand by them. No words were shared between them as Shaundi gently slipped her arm through with Cyrus’ and began to lead him up the stairs, passing by the security and leaving the crowded floor behind. Cyrus followed behind her shakily, taking deep, even breaths through his nose and keeping his eyes squinted against the harsh lighting of the hallway.

It didn’t take her long to find his room, and with a swipe of a key card, she popped the lock open and gently guided Cyrus inside. She kept the light off, and instead eased him down onto the couch, shushing him as he sucked in a deep, messy breath and mumbled inarticulate words under his breath.

Shaundi hurried over to the mock kitchen, grabbing a cup and filling it with cold water before placing it into the cradle of his palm. While Cyrus worked on gulping that down, she deftly undid the buttons of his waistcoat, pulling the dark purple material open and urging the man to slip it off his arms.

With that taken care of, she gently laid him back against the sofa and moved to refill his glass. Carefully, she perched on the edge of the coffee table and listened to his breathing start to even out before slipping his glasses off his head and folding them up. Before she could ask what happened, the lock beeped and she glanced up to see Johnny slipping into the room.

She offered him a kind smile and stood to give the two some privacy. As she passed, Shaundi noted that she’d be right outside, if they needed anything. Johnny murmured his thanks before tugging out of the too-tight suit jacket and tossing it aside carelessly.

“Hey, Cy,” He soothed once the door had closed again, watching how the boss’ blue eyes narrowed in the minimal lighting. “You okay?” Johnny asked, leaning over the couch to get a better look at the man.

He looked awful, sweat clinging to his forehead and hands clasping tightly at a pillow that he’d since hugged to his chest. Cyrus shook his head mutely, and then scooted over, making some room for Johnny to join him on the couch.

“I think we best get you to bed, Cy.” Johnny mumbled, moving around to the opposite side of the couch to untie the man’s rarely worn oxfords. With the shoes tugged off, he set them aside and gently pulled Cyrus to his feet, steadying the man before leading him into the room.

This wasn’t the first time this had happened to Cyrus, the over-stimulation a crowd provided always proved to be too much for the shy man. He didn’t like these events, and Johnny tried to persuade him to skip these parties every year – but being a well-known figure had its downfalls.

People expected Cyrus to show up, even for a little while.

They collapsed against the bed, enjoying the feel of the cool blankets against their skin, a welcome sensation after a too warm ball room. Johnny kissed at his neck, whispering praise as he held Cyrus close and tugged a sheet up over them.

Cyrus turned to nuzzle into Johnny’s neck, closing his eyes again and keeping the pillow from the couch held tightly in both arms. Johnny stayed still, listened to Cyrus’ breathing even out in the dark bedroom; glad that they were far away enough to miss out on all the exciting sounds of a bustling party.

Johnny kicked his own shoes off and pushed them off the bed with his toe, gently pressing a kiss to Cyrus’ forehead when the sound of them hitting the carpet drew a sleepy whine from the smaller man. “Best if we get to sleep,” He whispered before wrapping both arms around Cyrus’ waist to keep him close and safe.

Cyrus nodded and tucked his head under Johnny’s chin, fitting against him easily as they settled in for the evening.

When Shaundi came back to check on them, she smiled at the sight of two of her oldest friends sprawled out in bed, tangled in each other. She left them both waters for the morning and a few aspirin, just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cyrus really doesn't like crowds. :'|


	33. Demon Johnny and KOH Cyrus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some lame cuddles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Demon Johnny.

Johnny was sprawled out on his back, both hands folded under his head and arms curled at an angle that made his muscles bulge pleasingly in a mixture of ink and scar. His wings were also sprawled out, the full expanse of them easily breaching the width of the large bed and glowing an odd mixture of orange and purple.

One wing twitches, half curled up protectively but unconsciously, and underneath the shadow of it, the current King of Hell was curled up there, dead asleep. Despite the warmth of the area, the blond man was cuddled up against Johnny’s side with an extra gray throw wrapped around his shoulders.

From under the demon’s dark, unusually messy hair, Dane can just make out the pinpricks of red eyes focusing on him. A growl rumbles from Johnny’s chest, lips curling slightly to show off thick fangs before he snaps, “Get  _out_.”

And Dane completely forgets about the business report he had for Cyrus as he hurriedly slams the door and takes off down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dane needs to get better at knocking.


	34. Sharing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyrus takes a trip to the mountains with Shaundi and Pierce.   
> Their hotel for the day back ended up being a little too full for Shaundi's liking...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited, per usual.  
> Written in response to this prompt; Cyrus and Pierce, “I guess we’ll have to share.”

Cyrus was dead on his feet, standing there in the hotel that they’d driven to and listening and Shaundi and Pierce bickered with the person at the front desk. He rubbed a hand over his face and grimaced as he felt his beard getting too bushy for his comfort.

The camping trip had been fun, but it had been just shy of being too long.

He blinked sleepily as Pierce nudged him, flashing him a wide grin, “Shit, Boss. You look about ready to keel over,” He teased, “Don’t tell me I gotta call Kinz to pick you up early.”

“Nah,” Cyrus assured, blinking past the flecks of mud on his glasses. “I just need a shower.” With a show of sniffing around, he added, “And by the nose knows, you need one too.”

Pierce made a wounded expression, clutching at his chest dramatically as he whined, “You’re too cruel, as cold as the snow you’re named after.”

While Cyrus shot him a look that shown how much he approved of that, Pierce pulled him back up towards the main desk, where Shaundi was all but snarling at the person’s throat.

“We reserved rooms - what do you mean they’re ‘all taken?’” The woman hissed, her small build shortened without the help of her heels, but her eyes still able to make a man’s blood run cold.

“M-Ma’am, I’m terribly sorry -” 

“Sorry?” She growled, voice changing in pitch as she leaned closer, “I’ve been stuck in a forest in the middle of goddamned nowhere for two weeks, and you have the gall to give out our rooms and all you can say is… _Sorry_?” 

-:-

“He could’ve called security.” Pierce grumbled as he twirled the key card around his fingers, “Seriously, coulda got us kicked out.”

The woman smiled and casually shrugged, “I got us a room, did I not? And I call dibs on one bed to myself,” She stretched for dramatic effect, Shaundi was sick and tired of sharing space after being shoehorned into a tent. “Anybody else want to take a shower first?”

“You can go ahead,” Cyrus assured before Pierce could whine, leaning against the wall while the taller man unlocked the door.

It wasn’t a bad room, two beds and a large bathroom. 

“Well… It looks like we’re going to have to share a bed, Cy.” Pierce noted as he kicked his shoes off and flopped down onto one bed. “This one is ours.” He said, sitting up on his elbows to waggle his eyebrows at the blond man.

Chuckling, Cyrus moved over to sit on the edge of the bed, untying his boots carefully before unzipping his jacket. “I guess we do.” The Boss agreed, tossing his dirtied jacket to the ground by his boots before listening to the sounds of the shower kicking on in the next room.

With a sneaky pounce, Pierce pulled him down onto the bed to smoother him in cuddles. “Hey,” He murmured, “You feeling better?” 

Cyrus didn’t struggle against the hold, merely smiled as he nodded, “Yeah… Yeah, Pierce, I’m getting better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This… got so long. Takes place after he heals up after his attempt. Pierce and Shaundi took him on a camping trip to get him away from the White House and to get some fresh air in his lungs. Pierce and Shaundi care about him so much, and I don’t talk about them enough… :


	35. What’s your name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyrus asks Zimo's about his name...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited!  
> Takes place during SRtT.

“So, Z,” Cyrus starts, eyes focused on the rear view mirror as he watches the newly deceased Morningstar driver send the other occupants of the car into a river at a very high speed. “I gotta ask… what’s your real name?”

The driver stiffened, “Shit, what’s yours?” He challenged in his typical sing-song voice.

The Boss shrugs, “I’ll give you a hint?”

“Oh, really?” Zimos had his full attention. “I’m game, baby.”

The man frowned for a moment, reloading his favored pistols. “What did I tell you about those nicknames?”

“I’m sorry, it just comes naturally.” Zimos responded before making a sharp left turn, and Cyrus was happy that he was wearing a seat belt.

“Fine, fine.” The Boss started before leaning out the window to unload several shots into the chasing vehicle’s windshield. “The biggest asshole in Steelport stole _my_ goddamned name.”

Zimos gave a hum in response, “This dude military?”

A nod in response.

“Holy shit, baby, your name is _Cyrus_?” Zimos spouted off instantly, and the Boss cursed at him for nearly driving off the road.

“Yup,” The man proudly announced as he settled back into the seat. “The one and only. After I make zombie bait out of that bastard’s brains.” After a moment to let Zimos process that, Cyrus reminded him, “So… what’s _your_ name?”

The older man grimaced behind the wheel and replied in the most monotone and straight voice that Cyrus had ever heard, “Charlie.”

“You’re shitting me!” Cyrus erupted into laughter and then calmed quickly, a smile stretched wide across his lips. “C’mon, that’s a _wonderful_ name.”

“The Z disagrees,” He bit back with a pout shading his features. “ _Charlie_. Even burns my ears, sugar plum.”

“ _Sugar plum_?” Cyrus deadpanned unhappily, the smile wiped off his face. With a shake of the head, the Boss questioned, “Why do they call you Zimos anyways?”

“Honey, if I tell you that, you might stroke out from embarrassment. It’ll be like that first escort-”

“Okay okay!” Cyrus barked after a moment, his cheeks reddening just from the memory. “Let’s just get these damned deals done so I can take a shower, _ew_.”

“Thinking about me~?” Zimos teased as they pulled up to the next spot.

Cyrus tapped his thigh with the barrel of his weapon just to give him a good scare for that one. “Don’t make me find a good use for that stupid cane of yours, jackass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After replying some of The Z’s missions, I had to show what happened between Cy and Zimos during one of those dealer missions.


	36. Don’t say I didn’t warn you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rival species are strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you follow his blog, then this takes place after his hotel is attacked.  
> This guy's luck sucks. So bad.

“This is dangerous, sir.” Zinjai said meekly while observing the hologrammed images on the table. “This species is… uncivilized. We’ve had numerous problems with them in the past. They’re deadly - strong.”

“Which is why we need to talk to them. Pave the way for good diplomatic resources,” Kinzie argued behind her screen, watching the alien pace as she typed in a new image.

Cyrus stood with his palms flat against the edge of the table, slouched over to immerse himself in the images displayed. “I’d rather not be in the blind with them.” He admitted before turning to regard Zinjai. “You said the Zin had troubles with them before, right? Explain.”

The smaller alien nervously tapped his fingers together before bowing his head and spilling the beans, “Before you took the throne, we struggled with a few attacks on our troops on the ground there. Their abilities and sheer strength made them an enemy Zinyak didn’t want to face right away… so he moved on to attack your planet.”

Cyrus thinned his lips and let his eyes go back to the screen. They were a large, nearly ape-like creature. Their bowed backs and hollow spikes gave them a hollywood-esque fear factor, and their four dim, dark eyes made him unnerved. He almost wished they were covered in fur, for their flesh was so pale that their veins showed clearly over their muscular arms in a grotesque fashion.

“I think we should at least make contact with them. Show them there’s somebody else in charge.” Cyrus huffed, glancing upwards towards Kinzie. “A few other species only had issues with Zinyak leading, and are our closest allies right now.”

“That is true.” She quipped quickly before adding, “The same issue could be possible here. Maybe with a meeting we could cement some longstanding diplomatic ground.”

“Or they could show their bloodthirsty nature and kill any diplomats we send…” Zinjai butted in nervously, his eyes focused on the blond. “Please tell me you’re not thinking about going…”

Cyrus shrugged and stepped away from the images. “I could take a few of us and go try to talk to them. If things go south, we bail.”

Johnny, who had been watching silently from the doorway, shook his head. “Things go south, we should kill them. We don’t want to be dealing with unexpected attacks from them, right? So take them out.”

“I can’t condone that.” Cyrus snapped, a frown marring his features. “If we can’t reach diplomatic peace, we handle them in a way that does not result in - Oh, I don’t know - mass death and destruction.”

Kinzie and Zinjai shared a look while Johnny huffed and chuckled. “Fine, but don’t say that I didn’t warn you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cy listen to Zinjai you cinnabun.


	37. Everybody naps in Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Especially the King of Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehe, unedited!  
> Dane and Johnny are slowly warming up to each other. Enough to work in the same room. And to tease each other about... seeing... some things...

Cyrus blinked open his heavy eyes slowly, not able to remember when he dozed off. He could tell from the comforting warmth radiating against his side that Johnny must’ve come and joined him for a quick power nap.

He had to narrow his eyes to get a decent look at the shirt the large demon was wearing, but instead gave a sleepy whine and pressed his face into the warm fabric. It felt nice and soft. Like cotton – or whatever new fabric Rameses was toying with.

While he smiled to himself and nuzzled more into the warm chest, Dane heaved a dramatic sigh from across the room. He _knew_ putting a lounge area that big in their main office was a horrific idea, but he was starting to warm up to the idea.

Cyrus seemed prone to naps, a lot of naps, throughout the day. Like some sort of cat. Even the hellhounds rested at his feet ninety percent of the day.

He couldn’t understand it. 

With a shake of the head, the Ultor Executive reorganized his folders for the third time within fifteen minutes, and worried his hand through his hair as he collapsed back into his favorite spinning chair. With nothing else to do, he spun aimlessly and watched the scenery change from the windows, to the walls, in a quick blur.

“Bored?” A deep rumble asked, a low chuckle pouring into the area when the CEO tensed and faltered mid-spin.

Turning to place an accusing glare to the voice, Dane pouted as he watched Johnny wrap one arm tighter around the half-asleep King.

After closer inspection, it was clear Cyrus was currently, once again, lost to his nap.

“I’m not _bored_.” The man snapped, puffing up much like prey trying to scare off its predator. “I’m _thinking_ ,” Dane said with more control, pressing a hand down his front to compulsively smooth the impeccable suit.

Johnny knew that nervous tic. He’d known it far too long, yet the gesture never ceased to amuse him.

“Thinking about… Kiki?” He guessed with a waggle of his eyebrows, red eyes glowing under shades in the darkened lounge.

Dane sputtered with little dignity and didn’t formulate an answer quick enough to avoid Johnny’s pleased and rumbling laugh.

“Don’t worry, blondie, your dirty little secret is safe with me. Just keep the secretary roleplay shit on your own desk next time. And don’t let Cy catch you,” Johnny added with a wink, easing down and moving onto his back while gently coaxing the resting boss’ body to lie against him.

While Dane sat in a pouting and mortified silence over by his work area, Cyrus stretched a little and yawned again, happy to sprawl out against Johnny’s chest. The man was like a giant, warm pillow. A little firm, but he liked that.

“What I miss?” The blond slurred, trying to pull himself out of his sleepy state.

Johnny shook his head and suddenly turned them to the left, making the King release a stuttering and sleepy giggle as he was pinned between the back of the wide couch and Johnny. “Nothing,” The man assured while stroking a hand up and down Cyrus’ back. “Go back to sleep, Cy.”

“Mhm. Sleep,” The King yawned before smothering his face back into the crook of Johnny’s neck. When the onset of his deep, slow breaths returned, Johnny knew Cyrus was out like a light.

“I’m serious,” He said after a moment, voice low and careful with the sleeping Boss so close. “I like spicing up the bedroom life as much as the next guy-”

“You’re never going to let this go, are you?” Dane asked sarcastically from his spot deeper in the darkened room.

“The what?” Johnny’s smile was positively shit-eating, “The ‘I see London, I see France – _Oh look_ , Kiki’s not wearing underpants’ thing?”

“Ha ha, _hilarious_.” Dane hissed, kicking his feet up onto his desk and leaning back carefully. “Tell that to Kiki and-”

“I don’t have a fucking _deathwish_. Once was enough for me,” Johnny said before dropping his voice and adding, “However… there’s still the little detail of your underpants…”

Dane’s stunned silence made a shark-like grin sprawl over his features.

“Where did you even find _Iron Man_ underwear down here? And in those cute little boxers, too.” Johnny changed his tone into a teasing, forced motherly thing. “ _Adorable_.”

“Oh, no.” Dane slapped a hand to his face. “I hate you. _So_ much.”

“I know.” Johnny chuckled before letting a fond smile break through as he watched Cyrus mumble and cuddle closer. With a yawn and a tense stretch, he brushed his lips against the Boss’ temple before settling in for a nap of his own.

Dane was thankful for the silence, and spent the time staring at the ceiling and trying to will away the horrifying embarrassment that still colored his cheeks.

He was going to figure out how to get Johnny back – but the game of personal embarrassment had become somewhat of a favorite pastime between the two.

While he tried to come up with new ways to catch Johnny off guard – nothing beat the peanut butter one though – the Executive stifled a yawn behind his hand and smacked his lips.

A few minutes later, Viola came clicking into the room to check up on the new drafts for Cerberus, and found herself staring into a room full of zero productivity.

Cyrus and Johnny were still twined together on the lounge couch, one of Johnny’s wings hanging off onto the floor and the other unconsciously stretched over the two of them to block out any oncoming light.

Dane was pushed back in his chair, legs stretched out onto his desk and arms hanging off either side of the office chair. The way his neck was angled back assured a crick in his bones later on, but the twin found it all rather amusing.

With a sigh and a shake of the head, she quietly crossed over the room to collect some folders neatly placed on the King’s desk. Dane’s cursive scripture left on the front indicated that it was indeed the file she was looking for.

After gathering what she’d need, the other half of the deadly sisters paused in the doorway and watched them all a while longer.

She was amazed they got any work done at all around here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dane totally has to be an iron man fan. I'm not sure why. It just... fits.


	38. Little One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From that AU where Cy fails and Zinyak keeps him around. Zinyak is 100% really creepy in this so be advised! Warnings for Cyrus’ crumbling mental state in this AU and the Zin slowly wearing him down. 
> 
> Unedited.

Cyrus sucked in a deep breath, coughing up slimy, pink phlegm while trying to brace himself against the slippery floor.

He could never tell how much time passes between these random sessions. Where Zinyak would abruptly rip him from his own personal hell and instead punish him in person.

It was cruel, the simulation. He’d already caught himself thinking once or twice that it was _real_.

It was so easy to fall into Johnny’s touches or Asha’s kind words, following them around a simple house and forgetting that he was actually in a _dream_.

He longed for their presence, and Zinyak was finally starting to wear him down. Mentally, he couldn’t keep up enough focus, and was falling into traps that made him choke back surprised tears every time.

Johnny would say something casually, something biting and painful and Cyrus would know that Zinyak was teasing him. Asha might laugh at his crumbling mental state instead of trying to help him, and Cyrus was violently reminded that he was just a plaything.

Nothing more.

A doll with broken limbs.

As he tried to get his bearings on the floor, he could hear Zinyak’s low growls directed at the smaller, Zin servant.

“If I hear one more word about those blathering idiots, I will kill you. Now leave me. I have much more important matters to attend to.” Zinyak waved Zinjai off without another word, turning to regard the shaking man on the floor. “Still _sane_ , Mr. President? I’m impressed.”

Cyrus didn’t have the strength to bare his teeth, and instead focused on evening his breathing.

“Quiet? That’s unusual…” Zinyak purred, coming up to stalk around the pitiful man in front of him.

The once great leader of the Saints was now thin, his hair slightly longer and eyes duller. He was losing the battle.

Reaching out, the alien placed a palm over Cyrus’ shoulder and relished in the way he jumped. “You don’t look so good, darling. Feeling ill? Missing your crew?”

Cyrus remained silent, staring at the floor and swallowing back the tightness in his throat.

“Of course you are. It’s only human nature.” Zinyak soothed, patting the small man on the top of his head. “But now that you’re one of the only remaining humans… The feeling of lonesomeness is amplified, no?”

He could feel himself trembling, shaking on the floor pathetically at the thought.

Zinyak had to be lying.

Heaving a sigh, Zinyak snatched Cyrus up by the scruff of his neck and gently persuaded him to stand by increasing pressure.

The blond’s body protested at the movement, and he could hardly stand tall without feeling light headed.

“You’re almost there, Mr. President.” Zinyak cooed, the smirk evident in his tone as he coaxed Cyrus all the way upright. “There you are.”

Cyrus heaved in a breath again, his hands trembling at his sides and his head only held upright by Zinyak’s hand. He was just so tired of being treated like a doll.

It only served to remind him of his failures.

“I have been thinking, Mr. President. Seeing as you remain to be one of the only species to dare attack me directly, and escape the simulation, I am willing to offer you… A _promotion_.” His voice grew low and dangerous and it made Cyrus shudder unpleasantly.

“You relinquish your ties to humanity… And allow me to create you anew. Serve me, and only me. _Obey_.” He traced one claw down the scarred curve of Cyrus’ spine. “It would be so much better than suffering alone.”

Cyrus swallowed, his skin crawling as he felt the larger beast’s claws upon him. He stared straight ahead, refusing to look at the other tanks with various life forms tormented inside.

“I could take away _all_ the pain, little one. All the static inside your mind. I could give you a _purpose_.” Zinyak continued, “A new beginning.”

The hand along his throat tightened, and Cyrus clenched his hands at his sides weakly.

“Doesn’t that sound wonderful?” The ruler purred, pulling Cyrus closer. “Get rid of all those memories that torment you so…”

“Fuck off.” Cyrus spat finally, voice tight and thin.

He wouldn’t give them up.

His crew deserved to be remembered, even if doing so showed his blatant failure.

Chuckling, Zinyak used a blast of his telekinesis to push Cyrus back to the floor, enjoying the way the boss simply lay there.

He had realized that struggling only made the beating worse.

“One day, little one,” Zinyak snarled, pressing a foot down onto Cyrus’ back, “You will not be so keen to turn me down.”

Closing his blue eyes, Cyrus sucked in a breath and tried to curl himself up into a tiny, safer portion of his mind.

-:-

He woke up on the couch with a jolt, a pained squeak tumbling past his lips as he did so.

Johnny was making something in the kitchen, and he paused to glance over at the small blond worriedly. “Feeling alright, boss?”

Cyrus didn’t answer and instead blinked past the tears in his eyes and hugged the blanket closer to his chest. Gat slowly moved towards him after putting some kitchen preparations on hold.

 _Was_ he alright? He couldn’t remember…

Cyrus was hardly aware that he’d started crying, but as Johnny sat down on the couch and pulled him into a hug, the blond found that he couldn’t stop the sobs from falling out of his mouth.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Johnny rumbled, stroking a hand down his back. “I’ve got you.”

The boss smothered his face into Gat’s chest with another hiccuping breath, clenching his fist into the gray shirt the tall Saint wore.

“Deep breaths, Cy, deep breaths. I’m not going to let anything hurt you.” Johnny soothed gently, kissing Cyrus’ brow. “You’re safe with me, little one.”

The nickname made Cyrus pause, confusion warring with anxiety until he finally broke down into a fit of tears, letting it all out so long that Johnny was there to hold him.

He couldn’t remember if Johnny called him that.

Everything was so fuzzy…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :C  
> I love/hate this AU idea.


	39. Lingers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If some readers are not aware of what has been going down on Cy's RP blog, you guys may be confused...  
> Unedited.

It still hurts, _constantly_.

Lingers there in the back of his mind, just enough to become annoying.

He catches himself compulsively running his fingers through his hair, gently brushing his temple in a bid to get it to just stop, for a moment, at least.

Sometimes it flares up, and the pain becomes so intense that he has to lie down and stare at the ceiling angrily. Usually it won’t last long, but when it does it is exhausting.

Cyrus finds himself missing the little things. A fun coin game he used to play on Johnny’s phone, for example. Now he couldn’t stare at the screen for more than five minutes without his head throbbing in agony.

Reading was alright. Most of the time. So long that he wasn’t moving around or in a vehicle.

Sometimes Asha will read to him, some suspense novel that she devours like candy. He likes those moments. The way she reads quickly, excitement bleeding into her tone at some parts. Her skilled fingers flip the pages in the dim lighting while Cyrus lies there on the bed, Maddie’s large form curled up by his feet.

Other times when people read to him, though, he _hates_ it.

Loathes the way his speech therapist makes him repeat the words to them, and then proceeds to correct him on a million little nit picky things.

Even if he sighs and grows irritated, Cyrus knows that this is for the better. Somehow. He’s getting better, he thinks.

But the pain still lingers, and it’s disheartening.

Doctors said it should go away. _Maybe_. Cyrus wasn’t so sure anymore.

He was almost used it it. The whispering tone people use around him sometimes, even if it does make him suspicious. They know he doesn't like loud noises, voices or otherwise. Feels like claws digging into his head whenever they raise their voice.

He has never liked shouting much anyways. 

The blond looks guilty when he has to ask his friends to turn down the stereo, or the volume on a good action movie.

They do so without complaint, but he still feels bad. Like _a_ _bother_.

He wishes that the pain would just go away. Cyrus was _tired_ of it.

As his fingers brush through his hair again, he offers Johnny a fake smile.

 _It’s fine_ , he tells the larger man.

His heart feels heavy as Johnny sees right through him, offers him a spot to lie down on the couch.

As Cyrus leans back, he wonders why he even tries anymore.

Who the hell was he fooling?

Nobody, it seemed.

He closes his eyes and tries to ignore the lingering stab of pain in his head.

Thinning his lips, Cyrus wonders _why_ he’s still lingering in the world of the living. Holding onto the last remnants of his life.

He’s stepped down. He’s lost some friends, he thinks. He doesn’t quite _feel_ like himself - or how he used to feel like.

It’s hard to remember those times now, before the accident.

He feels like he changed, and he doesn’t like it.

Well. At least one things for certain.

The pain still lingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cyrus suffered another head injury which threw him for a serious loop. He's struggling with his identity right now, speech and some varying perceptions of emotions/expectations.   
> Poor guy isn't feeling too hot.

**Author's Note:**

> Phew, finally posting all these here!  
> This will continue to be updating, and one day, I'll even write something akin to an actual story with Boss Cyrus.  
> He has an RP blog run by me, [HERE](http://cyrusforpresident.tumblr.com/)~  
> You can also find additional info in the links on that blog. :3


End file.
